EMPATHY—that’s how the [Znitches] spell started with Trey.
Those letters conjured in his heart and traveled up into his head. Within his brain space, he conjured the images of the birds—or rather, the remains of avian soul collected there. Together, both Trey and the snitches constructed the winged forms. Snitchtalons had never been a friend of Trey. Meanness, spite, and pettiness fueled their interactions with The Clayborne. But once they’d worked together to un-do the initial empowering of the slavetalon master Bristles, mutual respect had forged between Trey and the birds.
Trey felt bad for them. He didn’t think anyone deserved to die without freedom. It was something that’d hit a little close to home when considering the war-torn history of pirates and colonizers coming after Clayhearth gold.
And the latest of those pirates? The snitchtalons. But they were just feathered idiots, misguided and all.
The birds had turned over a new leaf into the afterlife. Ultimately, they died unselfishly—something Trey appreciated and would never forget.
And that’s how his EMPATHY was born for the birds. It came from his heart. And because Trey had worked hard at becoming understanding and kind to the novel beings around him, to Swishy and Myst and the snitches, his spirit had added other potent words to the original bird brew, that emotional gumbo from which the [Znitches] were made. FORGIVENESS, LENIENCE, SYMPATHY, MERCY—everything that made him good, everything that would make his God proud.
From heart to brain, and from the brain to the roots of his hair. The blue energy flowed upward, gathering and gathering until Trey’s head was frenetically abuzz. His scalp felt like a stack of textbooks weighed upon it. The crush of souls was horrible. His cranial veins gorged with blood and stress.
Then, finally, release…
The first of Trey’s curly hairs unraveled in a soul string. It was so dense with blueness, like a sample of ocean-deep water condensed into a fine thread. That hair then swirled around, spooling into body parts, into shadowclaw anatomy. Blue feathers were first, then entire wings, a blue beak, and two blue flaming pebbles for eyes.
More of the Clayborne’s tight curls unraveled one at a time into ethereal birds, fully clothed snitchtalons—but also at the cost of Trey’s literal soul. He was losing hair, losing height. His ghost had thinned even more.
Then the second [Znitch] was born—or reborn rather.
And then the third came.
A snitch never had a name before—or they never told their names to Trey. And he didn’t care either—because snitches were expressly undeserving of names. They barely deserved life. He and Swishy had undone more than a handful of them to back up that ideology.
But Trey was past all that now. These were all individuals who’d now reintroduced themselves as such. Their names were ethereally scarred within their ribs.
ZONE, ZEUCE, and ZHIRD were the first three. The trio that reluctantly helped him in the Bristles fight, fallen soldiers that sacrificed themselves to save what they could of their flock.
“Are those are your real names?” Trey sleepily said, half into his trance and half out.
They’re our names now so that should be real enough for you. Let a rebirth be a rebirth.
“Fair enough, fair enough.”
Then another pair of soul curls lifted from Trey’s head, twisting into the fourth and fifth birds, Zorth and Zift respectively.
While the birds flew around in a trail, one after the other after the other, Trey floated atop the Straw Guardian, giving birth. He cracked a smirk at the idea, then laughed as the next bird emerged.
The Z birds kept on coming, much to the confusion of the remaining neo-ravens. The enemies flew higher up, sticking closer to the dense fog that contained Bristles and the true wrathravens. The transformed humans were careful not to be too close to Straw Guardian, staying out of its beast-slapping range, while trying to avoid the attention of the Nevermore-wielding Bristles.
Within the golden skies, the displaced humans found themselves in a precarious and insecure position.
For Trey another round of fighting was out of the question. As the blue flock spiraled from his body in arrowed vapors, thickening into form, Trey’s ghost reduced. He’d lost more than just hair.
The birds came from his curls, costing him greatly with each soul release. But he knew better than to shut off his spell. There was no guarantee that he could do it again. He wanted to see the whole thing through, relying upon his soul to remember its mechanics far better than his mind did.
The snitches seemed grateful for the release anyway.
Trey was one boy-shaped ball of yarn that gave himself to his former opposition. But all EMPATHY required backing. Anything less was commiseration, an empty sentiment. So he paid the cost to usher the soul-bound snitches into an autonomous rebirth.
Toddler Trey became younger, smaller, infantile. He was just glad the physical limitations of a baby didn’t hinder him. He could stand properly. He could hold his head up. He was the sturdiest infant that ever existed.
Soon, Trey’s dream was over. He was returned to the golden domain. Several wrathravens were diving at him, talon-first, choosing strikes over magic, especially now that there was so little of Trey to account for. Other wrathravens did, however, shoot dark blades at the [Znitches]—who dodged, protecting their second shot at life.
The boy stood there, smiling, disintegrating, becoming squashed.
And the birds kept coming, regardless of their drain upon him. Trey willingly allowed the process to happen. The passengers were in him all along, and he prayed that he wouldn’t be reduced to nothing. His FAITH staved away his creeping dread. He wouldn’t be given these birds if his soul couldn’t sustain it—though his nerves gave him all the you're-going-to-die-it's-all-over-now that he could handle.
There's enough of me to go around. There is, there is, there is, there is...
And as each new bird came into being, they joined the znitch line. The blue flock spiraled through the sky in arrowed vapors, their flight path confident—though their expressions were confused. Rebirth wasn’t exactly an anticipated process. Each member had to come to terms with their unexpected forms. The existential questions dragged across their facial body language, slowing their flight. Who am I? What is this body? Will it last? Do I have a will of my own? All of these considerations were unspoken but made plain by their gestures and slouched postures.
Trey watched them pull from his hair, then fly above, using trace amounts of spiritual energy by the second. They were efficient beings but they weren’t limitless. Death was assured for them as they left behind ether in their wake.
Trey decided to keep this to himself. No need to add fuel to this existential dumpster fire…
The truth and reality was that the birds had returned to the world, and now became harshly re-acquainted with life and all its complexities. Fear and anxiety were the first among the feelings. They warily eyed the wrathravens above. As human souls themselves, some of their widened eyes betrayed their pangs of jealousy. While they were weak, once-killed snitchtalons, their other city mates had become the apex among apex predators.
A couple even said, Why not me?
Trey was disappointed but not surprised. A human body, the peak of consciousness and autonomy, hadn’t been good enough for these snitches. Their idea of progression, of forward-thinking, would never align with his, and through his trance he processed those feelings as fast as he could.
Get over it, get over it, he coached himself. Make the birds. Grasp mercy. Hold to the kindness I need to finish this damn birth-giver gig…
A few of the neo-ravens became impatient—with Trey’s mysterious spell, with the strange birds that populated their domain, and with the fear of if-when-how Bristles would send a soul-rending attack from above—and so they launched themselves toward the Straw Guardian’s head, darting at Trey.
A hasty mistake.
[Trust] instantly triggered in the Straw Guardian. The small group of wrathraven’s were smashed by a giant punch. The crunch of straw against the beastly bodies sounded particularly bone-crunching and cringeworthy even though there wasn’t a bone to account for in that interaction.
Trey’s hair kept producing birds. The energy left his body. His infancy progressed into fairydom once more. He shrank and shrank and shrank and then…
No more headache. No more passengers. Soul Trey was free of that enigmatic burden, that spiritual weight foisted off of him, fully excised. The [Znitches] spell had run its course.
The flock—near a hundred by his best guess—circled all around him, a crown of soul birds sticking faithfully to their protective formation.
Zone, Zeuce, and Zhird were the only ones that strayed from the pattern, flapping around Trey’s body, towering over him now that the Clayborne had reduced to a sprite. The original three stared at the madness, catching up on the current state of affairs for their worried flock.
But of the snitchtalon variety, complete with bow ties, vests, and monocles. Their ghosts remained dignified and Trey respected that. He glanced down at his ether bracelets and Timbs.
“Ya’ll boys fashionable, huh?”
We always were but that goes without saying.
Trey laughed.
But the birds were annoyed and terrified. They let Trey have it with their overlapping speech.
The real question is why we’re back to life. What do you expect us to do about THAT? This is even worse than the situation that killed us in the first place. Do you see these wrathravens? Do you see Bristles up there? What were you even THINKING calling us?
“I wasn’t thinking anything. You were talking to me from beyond the grave, knocking on my soul, whining, quivering, acting all scared.”
Because there’s lots to be scared of. Next time summon us to a better world. Come on!
“I guess so. But give a bro a break. You knew this whole journey wouldn’t end with slapping around Bristles one good time. Things don’t end that easily. Even you.”
The birds shrugged.
We suppose so.
I guess.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Can you feel this reluctance? Please feel it. Never forget this annoyance when you summon us again.
Neo-ravens watched the conversation, growing more anxious. Each of their trembles released spores of blackness that dyed the sky in Rorschach splotches.
Those dark pigments were supplemented by a renewed rain of feather debris from above. Bristles had claimed more victims. His thunderous laughter rang out in the murder tones they’d so familiarized themselves with.
Disquieted by the threat above, the neo-ravens chose to challenge the Straw Guardian instead—but they were punched, swatted, and snatched from out of the sky. Even in the giant’s grasp, the victims shot red glares toward Trey and znitches.
The blue flock quivered, losing cast-off feathers—even as souls.
“See?” Trey said. “That’s what your asses were doing during your spiritual ride-along. That right there. You guys never left this life. Now you’re just accountable to the feelings you left behind. You don’t have to be a hopeless ghost. You can be fighting, cool spirits. Don’t you like the sound of that?”
What can we even do in this form?
Yeah, know-it-all.
Big talker but we already had trouble with the ONE wrathraven.
“We’ll do what we do. We’re going to figure it out.” Trey smiled—and though his smile couldn’t be seen in his thimble stature, his soul glowed with firefly vivaciousness.
If you say so, Zone-Zeuce-Zhird said in unison.
Within the overhanging miasma, reddened eyes shone through the shroud. The awareness of the true wrathravens had also been piqued. Trey allowed himself a brief and quiet lamentation. He felt like he was trapped in the bottom of a well as a meaningless molecule. No one from his old life knew he was here. Abyss was all around. Nightmare creatures wanted to possess him. And all the love he’d ever known was several forevers away.
The young man took a breath, then forced a smile. His soul went alight. He didn’t know how he’d produced a light so genuine but he was proud that he’d made it happen. He hoped Swishy also felt his small achievement.
What now? The bird trio said. The rest of the flock angled their head toward Trey. Everyone lingered the proximate airspace for an answer—while in the backdrop the Straw Guardian spread vines toward the neo-ravens, lasso-ing them with [Bind] intent.
“We fight, of course,” Trey smirked. As his soul went brightened, he could’ve sworn he’d bulked up, a firefly to a ladybug. Did he know for sure? Of course not. But confidence was the most important building block one could have.
Zone-Zeuce-Zhird were less than convinced. Fight, he says. As if it’s that easy. Oh please—
The Straw Guardian balled its tendrils into a hammer and slammed downward upon the grouping of beasts.
“Like I said, there’s gonna be fighting. And there’s gonna be Swishy.”
I guess we’re sold, the trio said.
The circling flock also murmured their right-ons and yeah-yeah-we-can-fight, nodding their heads. The blue flares of their bodies still undulated with apprehension—but they psyched themselves up.
Trey wanted to say more but weakness set upon him. He floated around, his ghostly functions intact, yet there was a concerning lack of oompf to his movements. Holding his hands to his face, he watched them become disintegrate. Porous gaps ate into his fingers, his palms.
Fairy boy, you don’t look so good.
Don’t tell us our constructs took your ass out?
I don’t see why you have to wane when we’re NOT trying to kill you. You’re the king of timing, you know that?
“I know…bad timing. I don’t feel particularly magical either.”
Trey’s levitating body almost slipped between the weaves of the Straw Guardian, phasing into and out of the giant’s head. A dull throb made itself present against his skull—a final passenger. Damn bro, where were you hiding? Trey kneaded his temple with his forefinger, easing that pressure upward. A hair sprung from his scalp and immediately coiled into a baby bird, the last and smallest of several dozen.
“I didn’t know ya’ll have runts too.”
It happens from time to time, Zone said.
The little bird’s name wasn’t a numeral like the others. The name Znitchy was etched into its rib, and as it soared into line with the flock left Trey a token of thanks.
The Clayborne gawked at Znitchy’s glimmering “T” pattern in the sky.
“That’s dope. Thanks for the compliment.”
Trey’s soul lost its temporary strength. All the confidence in the world couldn’t stop a magic-drained boy from its eventual atomization. He was so small he couldn’t properly see the outside world. Visual clarity was gone. Though bug-sized, he was no bug, no compound eyes to aid him in his molecular state. Even colors were vague and blotted, but he could tell them apart, and that gave him a way to know what was going on.
He gazed at the blur of gold and darkness. When the black curtain rose, he knew it was a wrathraven attack. And when a rush of gold swept across his vision, he took that for the Straw Guardian’s automatic protection.
“It’s only a matter of time before something gets me. I just wanted to make it back.”
A rush of terror came through him at the ‘back’ part, knowing the darkness through the nest portal came in steel plates.
And then nothing but gold, a shower of sprinkles waterfalling over his soul. The glitter phased through his body and settled in his fairy form.
“What in the world…”
Trey calmed. He remained small but his vision returned as if he were a real entity again. Above his head, he saw the cause of his boosted health.
Straw Guardian held branches over Trey’s head, shaking gold-straw dust over him.
And then Trey used his renewed presence of mind to cast healing spells. [Doze] activated. He really, really, really wanted to use [Zlumber], but knew he needed to make himself available for emergencies.
His soul passed out, phasing downward through the Straw Guardian’s head, drifting toward the heart chamber where his dormant body resided.
The soul went downward with a slow, ceremonial pace, and as Swishy watched Trey-less Trey return to his body, he knew his time had come.
“Just you and me,” Swishy said through Straw Guardian, gesturing toward the flock of empowered Znitches.
Zone, Zeuce, and Zhird landed upon the giant’s forefinger and adjusted their bowties.
(…)
Swishy had watched the entire spectacle from inside the Straw Guardian. He’d merged his straw into the giant, freely swimming throughout the head.
The boy wanted a front-row seat to everything, his CURIOSITY electrifying his soul, and found that chilling in his big body was practical and safe.
Bird after bird had come out of Trey’s head. And all with the familiar snitchtalon attitudes, all with their fancy ether-borne clothing. He couldn’t help but relate to the flock's sense of dignity, especially as he himself hadn’t created a Goldie without Timbs. His only regret was that the Straw Guardian, elevated upon the stake, was his only scarecrow that went without his favorite hard-heeled fashion stompers.
The boy just remained awed at the soulful birds. It brought him back to those I-just-want-to-fly fantasies. He got to live that life, too, briefly in the history lesson within Trey—until it soured of course.
But he’d gotten a taste. And he would be grateful for that even though there was plenty of poison to go around.
The young scarecrow wasn’t the only one to experience wonder at the miracle of a human male giving birth.
Even the Straw Guardian held out its hand, palm upward, in curious regard of the birds. These weren’t just soul-shaped constructs. They’d come from somewhere. They were individuals.
Individuals whose fears returned now that Trey slipped into a [Doze] state, his soul remains retracting into the guardian, flowing into his unoccupied human body.
As the birds hovered, they started to dipped down. The black hole above had them shook.
Fuck that! The flock said. He abandoned us!
Swishy was understanding because even as a dark dweller, he wouldn’t willingly dive into that chaotic mass either. There were good kinds of dark and bad kinds and the wrathravens had never done anything resembling charity in their whole lives.
“We do have to get going,” Swishy said through the Straw Guardian again. “The only way out is through there.”
I know, they said with irritation.
So far, the [Znitches] weren’t any different than the flesh-and-feather ones. These were blue. These came from Trey. So Swishy disregarded their attitudes and considered what useful attributes they had.
“You all cost Trey a lot of soul so you have to be good for something.”
That’s so flattering and unflattering at the same time. Maybe we should just join the wrathravens.
“If they’ll take you.”
You’re frustrating, you know that? Now enough jabber. You’re a giant. Get to fighting already. Make it snappy. And then to make their point, they all bit at different parts of the Straw Guardian’s body, making snapping sounds with the straw.
Swishy closed his eyes, both his real ones and the guardian’s, and proceeded to think through how they’d push their ticket to the clouds.
All in all, Swishy felt pretty good. The skies were pretty. Trey was safe in the heart chamber. The guardian was healthy, mystically autonomous, and contained limited patches of darkness. The blue flock was at his disposal too. He didn’t know what he’d do with them but they were on his side, non-dark allies which was exactly what he needed.
There was a steady hum of peace that coursed through his spirit. He felt the positivity crawl along his weaves like trails of ants, each unit small yet powerful. Just like him.
He was confident that there was yet more gold-straw in him. If only he’d be unleashed to the outer world again, he’d create more than just wishwillows. There was so much for him to remake. He was determined to be the best god there ever was. Ruby would have nothing on him.
The boy was that confident. He didn’t think he’d ever felt that about his prospects in Straw City.
Swishy removed his consciousness from the guardian once again, then reassumed his original body atop the giant. His Timbs were last to phase through the surface, and Swishy stepped into them.
The birds looked at him, a bit impressed.
Swishy rubbed the guardian’s head. “You got this, right?” He’d let the TRUST intent do its thing while Swishy bolstered it. Knowing that he couldn’t create an even more massive scarecrow—at least with the amount of energy he had at his disposal—he thought about solving his issue economically. What was the most efficient means to reach the portal? The Straw Guardian was his means of defense, so he didn’t want to leave it. And it was his means of transport, having taken him and Trey as far as they’d risen.
But how could he rise further? And rise without causing a risk to himself?
The boy looked at the Znitches and they averted their eyes, gliding absent-mindedly. But the birds didn’t travel far away. They were afraid to leave Swishy’s general protection. Concern tainted their sarcastic demeanor. The stakes were high for everyone.
"Ah, that’s right…"Swishy said, hammer-fisting into his open palm.
Then he summoned straw roots over his feet. Rather than sending his consciousness back into the guardian, he used the roots to siphon himself away. There wasn’t enough in him to give the whole guardian more size as a whole—but he did have the means to choose a piece. He’d chosen control over the arms last time, concentrating his gold-straw there, making that the most maneuverable and enhanced parts of the giant. Now he switched his target up.
When in the wrathraven’s realm, one sometimes copied the locals. He remembered this spell well.
[Stake].
Except in neutral tones, none of that chaotic blackness that he was attacked with. By increasing the height of the stake, enriching its root-like anchor, he brought the Straw Guardian higher into the air.
Rumbling was all around. The guardian trembled with its ascension as it squeezed through the woods, knocking branches and canopies aside. Much of the foliage clung to the straw. Leaves were everywhere. The guardian now was adorned in the trappings of woodland savagery.
And then it soared.
Together, with the Znitches, they broke into the dark clouds, ascending into the unknown realm where the true beasts lay. Bristles, the original flock, and the portal. Swishy would take them back to the world. He was determined to make it happen.
He and Trey had done so well with cleansing his current altitude of evil. There was yet more work to be done. The [Stake] rose, rising the Straw Guardian into the air in its scarecrow pose. And there was a saucy addition to its ascension. It gradually spun around and around, a cycling observatory that saw everything for what it was.
The guardian ascended upon the growing stake like an elevator. Swishy had a senseless notion of guilt. He was sad at forcing the giant’s departure from the purified surface. Together, they left behind a spectrum of unlocked cages and pollinated trees. Spirits were freed and roamed their light-bright world, confused, settling into their unplanned freedom.
Swishy now had left the world to them. Total darkness took over for a spell as they transitioned through the dense miasma.
After a few seconds, the skies cleared by a couple degrees. The pitch related into patches of slate. Swishy could at the very least see with his eyes. He took it all it, both him and the birds.
Bewilderment. Waves and waves of it.
Swishy remembered the treasure trove of sky that the portal had dumped him into. But the wrathravens were once more on parade, their obsidian overtaking everything pleasurable about their nest. The beasts liked it that way too. It was their nature to hoard and conceal that which was theirs. Nothing about them was the sharing type.
The feathers drifted down like hardened plumage shards, a rain of knives.
But it was all debris. Bristles confirmed that with his welcome.
“My liege! Swish-Lord! You’ve finally arrived to join the destruction. Please, partake in that which is YOURS!” Bristles lifted his grasping mega claw, an appendage that held the remains of his latest victims’ torso. The quality of orb-like smokiness was the same as a wrathraven’s stomach. “And I see you bringeth slavetalons! How wonderful! Quite thoughtful of my loyal charges to return. I suppose I would misseth me too!”
The blue flock reverted to trembling flight. Swishy knew that they were more scared of Bristles than the other wratrhavens.
Zone-Zeuce-Zhird had plenty to say. Trey told us you were going to handle THIS. Well, since you ate so many of US, how about this meal? Please don’t lose now after you’ve made us lose time and time again.
“I’ll make it worth it,” Swishy said, though he himself was quaking. Bits of his straw shook from his body, landing on his black Timbs. “You won’t regret being alive. I know the feeling and you won’t have that. I promise.”
A couple of the nearest birds cooed into his straw, briefly comforted.
Bristles’ teeth sharpened. His biceps bulged in demigod glory. And the Nevermore claw released a flaming aura of shadow, flexing its boundless and unresolvable greed.