SWISHY KICKED THINGS OFF WITH DESSERT—and knew it was all downhill from there.
In the moment, though, he craned his neck toward all the sweet-treat talismans while Sling watched him with a smile, seeing if he could find them all.
BACON BROWNIE, BLUEBERRY OLD-FASHIONED, DEEP-FRIED APPLE FRITTER, HONEYCRISP NECTAR POP. These bandages swam overhead in seductive S patterns, a papercraft mimicry of flavor smoke. Other soul-infused messages were hung from around the branches in origami donuts. Swishy loved coming home to a fresh smorgasbord—and loved even more that he was missed, that his mummy-mother looked after him so well, so devotedly. Feeling every sweet tree through the soulscape, he sighed, sinking into his childish comforts.
He could even spot his favorite of the trees, its roots covered in bandages, in PEACH COBBLER FUNNEL CAKE FRIES. Swishy, that nose-less boy, was able to smell it.
Oh, what a talented thing the soul is.
While Swishy reveled in deliciousness, Sling ran her fingers through his golden wing. She brought her touch back and forth, back and forth, lifting the straw feathers upward and then smoothing them back down. Swishy couldn’t stop laughing. New discovery: wings could be very, very ticklish.
He glanced at Sling—she grinned back.
“Fix our problems and I’ll even name a dessert after you.”
“I’ll fight Ruby a thousand times for that.”
“Will you now?”
“I said what I said.”
“I like your chances now that I see you’ve brought some muscle.”
And the colossus came up behind the boys and scarecrow-posed.
Everybody stared at the giant.
Sling gazed at Straw Guardian. Mother that she was, this was the only time Swishy had seen her appear like a child, both in behavior and size. She fingertipped its chipped stake. “Poor thing…” Already her bandages were coming loose to wrap the anchor in the bindings of NURTURE and HEALING.
The mummycrow was amazed. She nervously reached toward the giant’s knee, a totem for her prayers. Swishy didn’t understand the sacredness in acts of worship, only that these moments were to be respected. Anything that made the Straw-bound feel good was something he was happy to provide.
“This here is Straw Guardian. Cool, huh?”
“A lot like you, my love.”
Swishy giggled. Warmth marched through every inch of him. He celebrated the preciousness they treated each other with. The boy loved being loved. There was nothing like connection. Nothing at all.
“Where’s everyone else?” Trey asked, looking around, touching everything. He held a leave of each color, a playing card hand of red-orange-honey. He bent down, too, inspecting the grains of dirt and blades of grass.
“Yeah,” Swishy chimed in. “Where are the villagers?”
Swishy searched for the evasive lot. But they weren’t in hiding, not necessarily. Their gazes fell upon the boy, clinging to his soul. Even the most spiritually numb being would feel their attention. He did his own detective work and noticed the mysterious absence of stake holes in the dirt.
“Oh, you know,” Sling held a hand over her chuckles. “They’re around.”
Swishy was overcome with feelings then: the prayerful attention of his followers.
And the curiosity went both ways—Swishy eyed the trails of energy. His gaze was drawn up into the trees, aligning with the gazes that bore into him. Swishy’s countenance was one of perplexity while the villagers looked in awe.
The truth came into Swishy’s focus then.
Strange shadows were crowding the edges of the window notches of the trees, cross-shaped darkness that Swishy recognized as scarecrows scarecrow-ing. Some of the Straw-bound clung to the trees in their T-poses, some at diagonal angles, others straight up and down. The silhouettes of their stitched smiles gleamed in the dark canopies, both right-side-up smiles and upside-down, a smattering of scarecrows hanging upside down.
Amid the scarecrows were the windows, the hollows, which started at ground level but were placed all throughout the length of the red-orange tree trunks. Sling-paper lanterns hung upon the branches, ebbing their soulful light through the golden foliage.
The honeyed lights slashed across the suspended straw-bound.
Some of the villagers were happy to become the scenery itself, hanging the lanterns over their T-posed arms with twine loops. Others had chosen to use their loose bandage wraps for the light binding. Whatever option they chose, they were intentional and creative about the process. Swishy hadn’t called this evolution—scarecrow tree branches—as their stakes were plunged into the trunk while their limbs stretched outward.
But it made sense somewhat. The natural glow of the trees gently pulsed into the stakes. The soul connection between tree and scarecrow was as close to intravenous as a non-human could get.
The village had decided that shining was their innate state of being. Flame or electricity were human needs, and the scarecrows had transcended that through soul-powered wood and mage-lit weaves.
The villagers said nothing. Their jobs were radiation and devotion. They carried on a private yet shared battle. Swishy followed their gazes and found where the Straw-bound attention had shifted to.
[Hush] intent spread through every unit of land beyond the village.
As far as the eye could see and the soul could feel, the realm’s darkness traversed. Shadows stretched, touching everything. Swishy knew there was plenty of light out there somewhere, more colorful autumn for everyone to enjoy, but unfortunately light only carried so far in a world this cursed.
Each bulb of luminescence required cooperation, the other trees to not block its way, or the curses to not purposefully obstruct it. Light was the gift. Light was the torch. As the light asserted its obvious presence, the curses knew how best to block it out.
The prayers of his Straw-bound were returning, a hundred-fold echo of Lord Swishy, Dearest Swishy, Straw Savior.
Swishy was determined to protect them but their concentration scared him. They took their fates seriously—but in this strange and off-putting way.
Why the stakes? They already have feet. That obsession is so…so weird.
Swishy imagined being staked, his Timbs kicking in the air. He shuddered, then kept focused on the soulscape again.
From the tree to the stakes, and the stakes into the scarecrows, that energy now drifted from the scarecrows toward the giant version of themselves, Straw Guardian. Little blue dots came from each direction and phased through the guardian’s straw.
The [Hush] lapped against the boundaries of the village, scaring the villagers, those quivering bandage-wrapped tree branches, but they prayed with all their hearts. This was how they chose to fight—with the most powerful T-pose ritual yet.
And it worked its wonder into the guardian, closing its various wounds. Even Sling’s bandage wraps around the giant lengthened and wrapped further along its injuries.
The colossus relaxed, lowering its shoulders, sinking into the cultish spa treatment.
Even the guardian’s stake had healed its chipped texture. Its anchoring was now smooth like polished wood. It firmly rooted itself into the ground, twisting back and forth. The guardian burrowed and burrowed and burrowed, joining the ritual. While the straw-bound were branches, the colossus in its immensity, its straw, its woodsy textures, had become one of the trees.
As the Straw Guardian secured its foundation in the center of the village, the village of red-orange-honey, brightened by several hues. Everything organic overflowed with soul.
“I like this…” Swishy flew to the Straw Guardian’s face and rubbed its forehead. “It’s good to have a purpose. I hope I find mine too.”
At the edge of the village, the sanctuary bubble expanded. It was only a slight change but meaningful enough. Every few seconds, the curses were pushed back as Straw Guardian spread its stake underground, dispersing it in dozens of weaves.
[Roots], the guardian Swish-spoke, strengthening its scarecrow pose as its roots spidered outward, bulging and cracking the forest floor.
Swishy flew to the ground again and stood by Trey’s side. Together they took in the woodsy metamorphosis, the strobes of autumn casting rays upon everyone.
“This feels like we’re winning,” Swishy said.
“It’s the start of the world you want. You just got to the planet and you’re already an accomplished god. How you feel about that?”
“Weightless, I think.”
“Good answer.” Trey bent down and brushed a couple twigs from Swishy’s Timbs.
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Meanwhile, the curses beyond the village fought back. The aggressive night paw at the edges of Sling’s [Sanctuary]. The boundary lines of the village wavered, rippling air pushing inward and outward. The warbling tension between curse and comfort was worrisome.
Beyond the [Sanctuary], Ruby’s snitchtalons patrolled. The ones that hadn’t visited the wrathraven nest and aligned with Swishy kept flying with their scowls, their envy, their ire. But they eyed the rippling air with suspicion. They weren’t supposed to be able to see into [Sanctuary] but they could detect where the curses were being pushed. The peeves were loud about their limited freedom.
We can’t get in! We can’t go here! Why does this feel like a room? Why is life a cage? Why-why-why?
Why indeed betrayed the eyes of the snitches, who skimmed the ground floor, inspecting the pebbles, pecking into footprints—or rather stake-grooves of the Straw-bound.
Up above, the wyvern silhouette of a wrathraven enforcer clung above the snitches, keeping them under its wings, its shadows. In Swishy’s absence, the militarized security force only became more organized. Ruby was one—and therefore her underlings moved as one.
Harmony wasn’t supposed to be evil—but it was.
The scarecrows trembled with fatigue. They were human in the way that sometimes the spirit gave out before the body. Their anti-gravity poses crumbled. Pouring their spirits and wills outward was hard work, paying themselves to Swishy and to the sanctuary as well. Everyone burned themselves at both ends to make their lives work.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Trey clapped Swishy’s back.
“I think so, yeah.”
“Creepy but they’ve come a long way.”
“I know. I didn’t know we had so far to go. I was just here thinking everything was about playing. And I wish that it was still. I want us to play. Is that too much to ask?”
“If we lose, then it is. But if we win…”
“If we win…”
Both boys gazed around at the sacred microcosm, the luminous hopes that they wished with everything to honor and reward.
“Let ‘em know, Swish. You talked a good game to the wrathraven eggs. Let your folks here have something nice before…well before whatever comes, comes.”
“I…”
The blue dots ascended, calming to a reverse drizzle. The energy drifted slowly, building tension, waiting for a pressurized catharsis.
“I…”
The blue marbles vibrated. The world was visible through each one, crystalline beads.
“I’m proud of you.”
Waves of energy exploded upward. The village was one community, one mythic flame. Swishy kept speaking even though he wasn’t sure anyone could hear him through the flaring power.
“If this is the end, if we don’t get any more of what we want, then that’s it. You’re all the best scarecrows…that’s it, I guess. Swish-swish!”
The scarecrows mimicked the gesture, their straw sounds layering into an array of Swish-swishes, a makeshift rain.
Sling now leaned against her doorframe with her forearm held out. Her trio of wrathravens flew around her body, enlivened by the celebration.
The sanctuary was awash in soulfulness.
An intent was spread throughout the air. It didn’t come from anywhere in particular. Those letters took energy from the floating talismans of Sling’s bandages, from the hanging scarecrows who were one with their T-poses, from the kid-crows who ran around Sling’s legs in circles, and from the casual soul exhaust of Straw Guardian venting into the environment.
Swishy traced the air over his head with his finger, a looping cursive of HOME.
“It’s a good word, right homie? I’m happy you got to learn what that means.”
Swishy just watched with an open mouth, drooling soul at the word.
(…)
Changes to the light triggered a shift in the darkness. The ever-adaptable shadows were at it again.
The [Hush] outside flattened. Smokiness in the plains dissipated. Shadows returned to their scientific places, no longer flaring or spreading unnaturally in the air. They didn’t go away completely, though. The ground soaked in the blackest of black shadows.
Beyond the Sling-raised sanctuary, the rest of Straw City appeared like a gothic dominion. Everytrees shifted from their rooted positions and arranged themselves in aisles. Their tremendous roots broke through the ground with a humongous rumbling, kicking about a spray of rocks. With their foundations, the everytrees began to walk into their positions, using several roots to crawl along with arachnid mobility.
They formed a long and winding path that started near the exit of the sanctuary. There was no attempt to break in. The everytrees re-rooted themselves while the snitchtalons rested upon them, eyeing the world suspiciously.
The production was an invitation, a taunt, a summons from Ruby for Swishy to make his way. He knew that he should take this as purposeful and personal. And that’s what gave him fear again. He was strong, this he knew, but he didn’t know if it was enough to outlast the winds of death ahead.
Then he had a thought.
Who was a woman embroiled in another battle to extend a personal invitation to his doorstep? The blackwheat started talking to him, trying to shift from beneath his brown hay to become his skin again. But it was less out of corruption for Swishy, and more to reach out to his shadow sister.
“Myst,” Swishy and Trey said in unison.
The darkness cackled. The everytrees jagged maws broke open in the center of their trunks, revealing splintered teeth. Everything in the shadows proceeded to offer their taunting, gasping laughs across the land.
“I need to go now,” Swishy told the village, raising his rake. “Thank you for making such a beautiful place—however, you did it.”
“It was nothing, Swish darling,” Sling said. “It was you, actually. When the wrathravens took the wishwillows, the shavings rained down all through the forest, our first blessings.
The Straw-bound then pulsed the clearing’s energy and revealed their memories.
Swishy was encased in a holographic projection of the past 15 minutes, of the woodsy transformation. As the gold-straw fell through the foliage of the everytrees, their curses slugged around the wheat. While there were shadows that mindlessly snuffed the luminous strands, there was a good deal more that took to the straw like wild seed. They collected the straw and brought it into the bark, the roots. Whenever the straw tinged whatever it touched into a warm color, a red or orange, a yellow, a honey—an anything that resembled Swishy’s magic—the trees morphed.
Sometimes one doesn’t know the change that they want until it smacks them in the face or lays within their trunk hollow, warming them from within like a hearth.
The straw god watched the wishwillows fly away into The High Chasm.
But in their wake they left behind a forest of gold glitter, enough of a magical influence that inspired the everytrees to change. They were morphing trees, after all, and when told of the golden ideas they tried them out.
When Swishy came from the illusions, he reached for the fading images.
“Are you good, friend?” Trey asked.
The scarecrow was crying, twin trails of tears leaking over his gourd.
“I have to win.”
“We do.”
“Let’s go.”
Trey nodded at Swishy—then at the Straw Guardian.
Swishy shot upward to fly toward The High Chasm—and was immediately passed by Ruby’s snitchtalons. There were three of them at first, then seven, then a whole flock screeching past him and choking him with feathers.
They ignored him for once and he didn’t know what the deal with that was.
He turned around and followed them in their plunge.
“Where are you going? What’s happening?”
The snitches just cut their eyes at him.
He swung, batting several out of the sky.
But many dodged, all of them taking disparate paths so the boy couldn’t catch them all at once. And then they went straight into the village.
Swishy figured out their trick then—they’d waited for someone to leave the inaccessible zone. Though they couldn’t see through the [Sanctuary], they estimated an entry point by Swishy’s exit. And so they trespassed into the village, from which issued a commotion.
There were many instances of [Weave] from the trees as the mummified scarecrows extended ropey vines to the birds, slapping them and even grabbing them.
Trey shot at them with [Zap] bolts.
But the snitches were many and about half of the flock started to hide underneath the guardian. They’d infiltrated the giant and went straight for the nests.
The wrathraven eggs were plucked from the hollows and the snitches disappeared into the shadows once more.
“No!” Swishy chased after the egg thieves. “They’re starting over! You can’t do this!”
The snitch blitz was successful, sacrificing many of themselves to do about the same damage to the village. Another attrition tactic, and the numbers were vastly on their side.
Swishy followed them into the darkness, leaving the sanctuary. He felt swallowed. He hadn’t entered a portal but felt the portal-entering feeling, the this-is-a-new-world anxiety.
Once he’d entered the dark skies, the autumn colors of the Straw Village were deadened. A black curtain rose and swallowed the sanctuary, especially now that the snitches had known where it was. The snitchtalons had, by their natures, snitched, telling and guiding the shadows where to position themselves.
Weaving and commanding shadows were not anything that the snitchtalons were adept at. But these birds were Ruby’s lieutenants. They wielded her authority and orders, which were as good as any wand when it came to this realm.
Swishy swung at bird after bird. When the birds dodged, Swishy took advantage of that moment to snatch the eggs from their talons. They couldn’t defend their loot and themselves at once, the common downfall of the thief.
The birds cawed indignantly as Swishy threw the eggs into the general vicinity of the village.
It’s okay, Swishy coached himself. I have a team…
A mummified hand conjured from the darkness and snatched the egg—Sling likely jumping for the save.
Then Swishy mugged another bird and tossed that egg aside—which then was captured by Trey, who was carried between the talons of a Sling wrathraven.
Every time Swishy dropped an egg, either Sling or Trey reliably caught them. Straw Guardian’s vines got into the mix as well—which was the greatest relief since Swishy knew it’d hide the eggs well.
But Swishy was just one boy, one flier, and so several of the birds ascended past him and there was nothing he could do about it. More snitches than he cared to admit were long gone, having vanished toward The High Chasm.
Sorry straw bitch, these are Ruby’s! The laughter echoed, then dissipated as they left Swishy in their wind.
“So much for rebirth, so much for a fresh start…”
The boy endured the shocks of blackwheat thoughts.
Each egg lost was a life he’d failed. He hoped the wrathravenwouldn’t hatch and they’d meet again for battle. His didn’t need to be the rake that struck it down.
The boy returned several more eggs to the village—but there were snitches making return flights for their raid.
“Stop right now!” Swishy’s rake glowed. He flew after them and launched a new attack.
[Gold Piercer]—the rake tines stretched in a rigid line of light, shooting down many birds before the rake instantly retracted to its normal size.
The glittery aftermath of the attack dotted the darkness, then faded.
Swishy floated there in the dark, waiting.
All the shadows were stirring. Even the clouds seemed like they were his opposition.
Swishy was trapped in a frowning, disapproving world.
The air rejected him as nothing flowed toward him. His wings were deprived of the distinctive feel of air current. His plumage suspended him but that was it. There was no wind, no avian feeling. Swishy, once more, was constricted to a vacuum world.
What a stagnant life this is…
And now the sizzling carbonation returned.
The atmosphere heated his soul.
So much of Ruby’s power was here—and none of Myst’s. Where was his shadow sibling? Couldn’t she bring these beings to heel? While the snitches around him scurried toward The High Chasm with stolen eggs or back to the village to raid the guardian, he knew that he couldn’t pick small battles anymore.
It hurt to let them go.
But the more the darkness acted up, the more he worried for Myst. She was out there. When at first she was one with them, the mistress claiming their leashes, now the altar had turned against her. There was so much delicious darkness for her to revel in, but it was all aggressive now, all Ruby’s.
Feelings he knew a bodiless person shouldn’t feel were coming to Myst without a doubt. He’d experienced this himself, so he knew.
Now, instead of the silence, of the commandment to shush, hush, and swallow one’s feelings, there was a six-lettered word that Swishy knew ruled the city. Its obsession with food. Its obsession with more, more, and more.
This one intent ruled all.
H-U-N-G-E-R.
Mysty is hungry…
That was his first thought. He knew the curses were aiming at her in waves. With its HUNGER, the gnashing hordes were after her.
“I have to hurry…”
He shut his soulful optics but the cursed impressions tattooed his mind with legions of opened mouths. Every spirit was gasping, drooling, begging. Every hand found a tummy region to rub.
These were biological ways to feel hunger.
But the atmosphere was able to inflict hunger upon Swishy as well. Anyone could learn, scarecrows included.
The boy’s hand drifted toward his chest, burrowing beneath his jacket—then into him.
He sifted through the straw, searching and searching.
Ah, there it is…
All around his little hand, cursed ether danced and danced and danced and danced.