Swishy! Swishy!
The boy knew he was in for something good and rushed toward the promised benefit.
He couldn’t remember the last time he progressed this way without doubt, only that it felt good. Only that the evocation of his name signaled that someone was after him. Folks called him God, a harvest, a food, the contents of a produce receipt. But the echo in his mind felt closer to him, even closer than Trey, and it was a voice that he had no trouble trusting.
For the longest time, his name being called made Swishy suspicious. He didn’t know when he got so distrustful, when his lack of confidence in others became the rule and not the exception. Trust had to be earned. He resented the humanness of that feeling.
Even now a tremor of SUSPICION rose through the blackwheat braids of his body. The burgeoning word even had a distinct shape while traveling through his soul, the length and movements of boas. Each time a stray curse or stranger, learned the taste of his name and spat it out for one favor or another, his blackness sizzled with the they’re-going-to-get-me-they’re-going-to-harvest me fears.
Swishy wondered if this was a product of him as an altar, the controlled suspicions, the way that his body cared less that others wanted to use him. He knew that people wanted things from him. He’d skipped to a mode of acceptance through his wish, through the myriad changes made to his soul.
In any case, the boy flew as fast as possible. His wings carried him toward the litany of his name.
Swishy! Come through! Come now!
There was goodness; there was genuine connection; there was real interest in who he was as a person. For a reason not yet examined, Swishy didn’t get the too-good-to-be-true sensation.
He didn’t second guess. He soared.
Nothing could stop him, not even the stray lasso loops that reached toward him.
A sea of branches and vines parted before the determined scarecrow.
His name was heard—again and again. The being knew that Swishy was coming, and its cadence sounded like an attempt to guide him to the right place.
A phantom pulse flowed through every fiber of Swishy’s straw. The boy’s hands and feet throbbed. His wings buzzed. Nervous energy abounded throughout him. An untamed potency awakened. But the shape of that power? The usage of it? That was for him to figure out. He knew this well, the voice being the deeply personal experience that it was.
The communication came in three ways: a heartbeat for one, a telepathy for another, and most importantly of all—swishing.
Swishy knew it was his heart. The pulse, the feeling, the spirit of it was something that he could undeniably claim as his. The rhythm was different than what he was used to when it lived inside him but there were hints of its familiar thumps. Beyond that, though, Swishy labored to pin down its frequency. The heart’s projected words were sometimes muffled. The quality of the swishing didn’t translate into language all the time. But the heart’s conscious attention to him pressed onto his soul. The presence wrapped him with urgency. It needed him. Now this was a feeling he knew and trusted. The save-me energy. The change-my-life, change-me request.
His soul warmed just like when the straw-bound prayed to him.
There was love there. And a thousand other things that were non-love-like, that made his chasing of these echoes an emergency.
“What do you need!” The boy raised his rake, hoping the land would respond to it a comprehensible way.
Instead, Swishy only received the same beating and muffled words in his head. The scarecrow, however, offered more than he intended to give. His rake-wielding progress had caused collateral changes in The High Chasm. Golden buds pushed through a few tree branches. A smattering of grass grew beneath the rake’s light. And a glowing pinecone fell from another tree he passed—which Trey caught and marveled at.
“Wow, you got endless tricks in you.” Trey twisted the pinecone in his hand.
The Sling-ravens leaned in, enchanted, ogling the greatest object they’d seen in their lives.
Swishy was happy to have the crew. Trey and the Sling-ravens were right at Swishy’s heels without a demand for further explanation. Myst continued to draw shadows from Swishy’s straw, recharging after the massive release of her stored constitution toward Ruby.
Swishy was supported—and while he wasn’t sure if he was understood, he was validated.
“Do you think we’re close?” Trey asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Okay, lead on then.”
Swishy didn’t have the answers. Being that the first heart-fueled The High Chasm, its beat was everywhere. With such a sporadic rhythm, the scarecrow knew that his heart had led a far different life. He was afraid to know its truth but eager to accept its everything.
Speed, spiraling dodges from vine snares, and the occasional fast-paced scarecrow interaction—some trying to snatch him up while others offered hi-fives.
Swishy! Sorry for all the traps! They’re draining me for it. I don’t want to be like this. Please, I want to fly too!
The boy sped up again.
Forward, upward, ascending the hills and groves with his gliding. They’d returned to some of the buildings again, patches of township that were grown from the bird hearts.
The voice returned to faintness. A couple of syllables came out strongly, but the rest became garbled, muted, or both.
Swishy racked his mind. How could he get closer to a heart he couldn’t see? How could he reclaim that which he hadn’t found? He wanted to strengthen his connection to the soul, which was constantly cutting out. It was soothing to hear it and dreadful for the presence to fuzz out again—a heart trait for certain.
His rushed progress spread rake light and crumbs to The High Chasm. From those spills, collateral growth was on the rise. Clovers, mushrooms, and straw stalks pushed forth.
A sigh—the phantom heartbeat had given him a slight bliss, a diversion from The High Chasm’s staggering darkness. His mental math went as such: seeds were planted but it was his heart that’d provided the energy. Now, though, Swishy had put his curse-spring of a heart to noble use.
An idea occurred.
The scarecrow landed.
“What’s up?” Trey asked as the wrathravens still hovered him above the ground, ready to fly off at any given moment.
Myst simply kept her eyes closed as she remained leg-deep in Swishy’s straw, absorbing the darkness. A slight grin and bemused giggle came from her.
Swishy focused his energy around along the edges of his body, a boy-shaped conveyor belt of spirit. He then pushed most of it down to his feet, putting his all into connecting to The High Chasm. If he was correct, whatever went into the monumental tree fed directly from its resources.
The boy gave energy and waited for clear feedback from the tree, an easily deciphered heart activation.
Energy rippled beneath his feet, glorious rubbing. Swishy couldn’t tell the primary source. But he knew that a massive flow was coming for him.
A circular perimeter of golden clover sprang to life.
The light rose like flashlight beams.
Swishy overflowed with TRUST, offering it to build it, and so he went into a trance state. Blue soul welled from his eyes and mouth. Golden aura pushed through his straw. And steadying, gradually increasing, ripples of shadow ebbed at a constant pace from his Timbs. For a moment, he’d surrendered his consciousness to his spell, shifting it from his body and into the surface. He’d done it with the Goldie’s, the Straw Guardian, and now with the even more colossal High Chasm.
“[Straw Totem]…” the scarecrow breathed.
And then his awareness slipped away, consumed by his vast energy.
Trey and the Sling-ravens hovered around in awe—though after a moment, the levitating Trey returned to his clinical experimentation of supernatural boons. He held his hands out, testing the warmth of the light. He moved his face in it. He stuck out his tongue, tasting the air.
Myst crawled from Swishy’s gourd to laugh at Trey. “What are you doing?”
“I figured I may as well try!” Trey still delivered ice cream licks to the gold space. “Look girl, you can eat everything else around here.”
“How does it taste? The light.”
“Like oven-warm cinnamon.”
“Truly?”
“I wouldn’t lie about something so cool. You know me better than that.”
“Hmm, have you tried tasting shadows?” Myst conjured the shape of an ice cream cone in her grasp. Somehow its texture shined more than the gold. She stood there, consuming it, staring at Trey.
Trey put his tongue away. He blushed.
“Is something the matter, Trey?”
“No, nothing at all.”
“It’s icy.”
“I assume so.”
“And sweet.”
“Um, that’s lovely and I’ll think of it often.”
“You’re thinking of it now.”
“I am. I can’t lie. My mind is frail but my spirit is praying.”
Myst laughed so hard she dissolved her shadow cone. “I love you humans sometimes. You’re such a delightful riot of weakness.”
“If you’re happy, I’m happy—and I guess alive.”
“You do owe me your life. A shadow girly will take credit for that. But if you ever do decide to …claim a sweet treat—”
“I won’t—”
“God will hear your prayers. Every word. Every sound.”
Myst smirked.
Trey swam in her gaze, melting away.
The Sling-ravens dropped Trey on the ground, then pecked at his head.
“I didn’t do anything, hey, guys, stop it!”
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Myst laughed as she receded into the confines of her pumpkin luxury.
Right then, strips of Swishy’s consciousness returned home. The wildness of his energy leveled into a contained flow. His aura was less of a torch and more of a candle.
Swishy, a reawakened totem, focused on growing life through his Timbs. The radius of the buds expanded, now covering the base of the nearest trees. Continuous currents of soul flowed underfoot within the roots. It was through this proximity and contact that Swishy could converse with his long-lost heart. Together, they were one organ. Blood in, blood out. Energy in, energy out—and in an evolved state, no less.
The High Chasm heart was shouting with its incredible abundance of soul, a wordless euphoria.
"What is it, buddy?" Swishy whispered.
The scarecrow watched the soulscape, shutting down his vision of the world. He listened to the heartbeat, a thumping that was then expressed as words again, as intelligible Swish-speak.
I want to come back!
More clover flowered around his feet. Then golden grass. Wheat stalks. A lone sunflower pushed through the surface.
Trey studied these developments like a true scholar—while the boyishness of him poked the growths, caressed their structures, and then plucked choice clover bits that struck his fancy.
Myst just brewed an enigmatic spell within her webs. Swishy felt bubbling in his head, varieties of alchemical brew made from his chasm. One of them was the same as Myst’s [Nightmare] technique. Others carried similar energy but varied. He could even hear glass clinks as Myst fabricated shadowed vials.
Everyone in the crew had a magic something or other to develop while Swishy handled the matters of his heart.
Are you listening? The heart said. I know I didn’t Swish my soul away just for you to not listen when we found a link. I want out, I want out, I want out—
The heart hammered away each time it said it.
“I want you back!” Swishy declared.
Prove it, then. It’s dark here, okay. And numbing…so numb. The only thing I feel is proof. Understand?
Swishy said nothing—he simply continued to light up the world. His gold crawled upon the trees, pigmenting the leaf clusters and branches. Red-orange-honey spread through the air in limited shocks. The trees were hybrids, sections of its black rubber everytree-ness with slashes of autumn in between.
One lucky tree had even collected enough gold to morph into a wishwillow.
As the growth happened, his displaced heart lost its panic. The same rapid heartbeat persisted but with a regulated rhythm. The color crafting was a grounding and beautiful thing.
“Please. Take this gift. For you.”
I like…I like…
"I miss you," Swishy went on. "I didn't mean to give you away. I was only sharing. Hearts are for giving. That's at least something that felt right. I'm sorry it turned out like this…with you working so hard.
It’s okay…I know where you were at. I’m your heart. I know everything. It’s because of me that you put me in Ruby’s hands. I’m at fault. And you were just trusting. You are me and I am you. So it is what it is. But one thing…
“Free you?”
Exactly. Tree life is hard. Let me be a scarecrow again. T-ing as a tree just isn’t the same.
Swishy gazed above the treeline toward the upper reaches. He found it terrifying that one tree had become so mountainous, so monstrous. It was just so…so much.
The scarecrow pulsed his soul through his Timbs, delivering reassuring footsteps on The High Chasm surface. Swishy waited for the feedback, for a response from his agonized heart.
“Please, take this apology. I’m sorry I let you go so easy. I didn’t know better. I didn’t know anything. I was a flashcard baby. Protecting you wasn’t a thought in my mind. I didn’t know you. I didn’t know what you were. But I knew you were everything. I could feel that from the start. And I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.”
Swishy, I forgive you. I do. You were only following my advice, my impulsiveness, so it's okay. I would've given myself away too.
Swishy laughed to himself. The strong beating spoke again.
I miss the feel of those big footfalls. And I'm missing the feel of you flying through the sky. Bring me back! I'm your heart and you're my dream. Come back!
A tap-tap, a hop, a little foot-grinding against the ground.
Oooh, so ticklish—ticklish and good! Now I believe in you. But don't take too long. Good hearts can't be kept waiting!
"Yes!"
The pulse then settled—thick beats still, sucker-punch hard, but bearable.
And most of all, worth it.
(…)
Before he knew it, everything was gorgeous. When Swishy leveled his gaze to the sights before him rather than the distant darkness, he restrained the perspective he needed, the positivity that fed him most.
The boy and his heart had colorized the surroundings.
All the trees, the surface, the flowers and stalks and fauna—were autumnal with an other-worldly gold. His influence had turned his clearing and the next several into his village. The colors were deep and vibrant and instantly attractive to life—anonymous shadow lives, but lives nonetheless.
Darkness gathered, darkness transformed, expressing their creativity through their bodies.
Black butterflies, black ant trails, black wisp that flew about in the shape of flames.
There were bugs with stingers. And bugs with tusks.
Most things flew or slithered. Nothing, as of yet, had four legs and fur. Ecosystems were grown from the microbes on up, so the units of life were modest but full of presence. Hives of the flighted unknown—and the crawling unknown—soon occupied the woods.
From the distance, Swishy sensed the scarecrows’ eyes. He swore he could feel their stakes, those coiled together roots, strain from their tightness. They wanted to move. They wanted to move so badly.
Swishy hated how human desire came with desperation.
Patience and gratitude were learned skills, and the newborn scarecrows hadn’t gotten there yet. They hadn’t gotten anything. All around, the land of eyes and hands and mouths deepened their impression on the atmosphere. Swishy could feel his heartfelt contributions wrapped and packaged for Ruby and her minions to divvy up.
And then, in the distance, DEATH and TYRANNY and ENVY reared their serpentine bodies. They tore through the clouds, seeming to have developed scales. Though they were smoke, their lettering appeared like chipped paint, flaking downward, littering its ill upon the surface.
Ruby had awakened.
She was out there somewhere. A wind whipped up. Trees everywhere were blown into full sway. But as soon as the powerful gales appeared, they’d vanished as if reaped by a phantom or drawn into a portal. Even though the weather had receded, the small units of the world were evidence of its impact. Dew drops on the woods vibrated. Curses along the roots of trees dug into the soil or hid within thick patches of fauna. Air heated up, the vapors almost visible.
The flighted shadows had all faded into black mist, returning to the safety of anonymous ether.
The crew’s momentary peace, their round-start win, was a memory now. The witch, loaded with fury, was coming.
“We’ve gotta move on,” Trey said.
Myst nodded with a tight grimace over her lips as she continued drawing from Swishy. She was the totem this time, an arachnid one with her limbs in deeper reaches of the blackwheat.
Swishy then fluttered into the air, mourning the moment his feet left the surface. He expected his connection to his heart to suddenly cut off but that didn’t happen. Such was the tenacity that Ruby’s distant outburst now awakened in his heart.
The lost heart rhythm went on with madness and fury, activating its spirit of rebellion.
Get her, his trapped heart said. Burn the witch!
Such violence made Swishy scared. His heart was more corrupted than he’d originally thought. There was rehab to be done—once he’d freed it at least.
I feel your judgment. Please, I’ve been through a lot, just bring me home.
“I’m sorry.”
Don’t be. I need you. And sorry won’t cut it. But cutting her head off will.
“I’ll…sure I can do that.”
Trey watched Swishy, the Sling-ravens parading him around his orbit. The Clayborne had two sets of eyes, his real ones along with another partial astral projection of [Soul]. Swishy was glad he didn’t have to explain such things anymore.
“I see…” Trey then produced a golden thread from his index finger, a [Heart String] no doubt. The yarn unfurled at a strong diagonal, aimed at the upper levels.
“Up there, Trey?”
“Up there, yeah.”
Now rake this woman’s limbs off, I beg of you.
“Wild heart, you got there.”
“I’m a good boy, okay, don’t look at me.”
“Whatever, bro. The fury sure makes it easy to find.”
Stop the staring and unplant me. Please! Swishy’s heart became desperate again. The beats punched his chest. Swishy’s whole torso rocked from the rhythm.
“I’ll bring you back. Just calm down. It hurts.”
I can’t stop the way I am. If a heart hurts, it hurts.
“Yeah, you’re telling me…”
“Greedy, greedy,” Myst laughed.
“You’re reading my thoughts again, huh?”
“No, you’re just an open book. I-want-it, I-want-it. Your thoughts are so loud, it makes it hard for a girl to rest.”
“Well, I do want my heart—it’s mine.”
“I didn’t say you were wrong. Only that you’re greedy.”
“Greed for all my parts seems like self-defense to me.”
“I suppose it is,” Myst shrugged. “The perspective of those with freedom is a wonder to behold.”
“We’ll get you there.” Swishy’s RESOLVE firmed up. But his eyes darkened. He wondered if Myst knew how sad her life sounded.
Swishy and the crew flew onward, eyeing the scarecrows below, and watching carefully for the buildings, the trees, and the foliage. The scarecrow detected the heavy presence of curses all around. Trust nothing. In Ruby’s hands, life was a weapon. His hair trigger for destruction almost disgusted him.
The boy’s saving grace was his gold-straw shedding.
Even as he was lost in his blackwheat-sprouting thoughts, he waved his shining rake over the woodland civilization. Every shaft, every tree, every smattering of grass received his golden aura. Sprigs of clover decorated the surfaces like patches of moss. Glowing mushrooms came to life. And the beginnings of trees also sprang above the shadowed grounds.
“This is beautiful work,” Trey said.
“I’m just living, just a scarecrow’s way of breathing on everything.”
“Nobody’s breath does that.”
“I know. That’s why we’re in this situation.”
“It’s okay to be a little jaded. I feel you, homie. Right now, though, I’m thankful. I’ll fight for our lives, but if I die, at least God let me see the best of the world.”
“You boys sure are good at making a shadow mistress feel lonely.”
“You’re one of us now, Myst,” Trey’s grin lit from cheek to cheek.
“Oh, is that so? What do you mean by us? What are we?”
“Those that care, obviously.”
“Ah, generic.”
“Community gardeners?”
“A little…uninteresting.”
“Curse slayers!” Swishy declared.
“I love that, young Swishy. Thank you for saving us with good taste. I know thousands of ways to slay curses—and have used them all.”
“Say what you will, you twinning psychopaths,” Trey gestured to the color-changing buildings. In the distance, the scarecrows began to pick the clover themselves, taking after Trey. All around, the everytrees that began golden at their roots, turning to wishwillows slowly but determinedly. The Clayborne picked a mushroom of his own, nibbled it, and sighed to the depths of him. He split the remains into pieces and shared them with his wrathraven taxis, who cawed in approval. “Curse slaying is edgy—and blatantly untrue.”
“Then…” Swishy eyerolled, waiting impatiently.
“Curse-morph, obviously. And that’s my final compromise.”
“I like…” Myst said. “There’s power there. Morphing. Changing. Controlling.”
“Shadow Bitch gets it!”
The trio laughed together—as Trey continued to pick gold shrooms, even tossing one into Swishy’s eyehole.
“Hey!” The scarecrow flinched.
“Thank you,” Myst grinned at the offering, then turned one of her limbs into a knife. With supreme dicing technique, she prepared her snack, before eating the remains.
A meal harvested, a meal shared…Swishy’s gold-straw grew on overload.
His rake lengthened and brightened.
The world, too, matched the luminous energy, colors now seeping through the fauna from the bottom skyward, changing sections at a time.
It was a reverse rot, a cancelling of Ruby.
Life now dressed itself in worth and esteem.
The trio progressed in comfort, in calm, amid the brightening settlement. Ruby’s world was turning to theirs. TRIUMPH bloomed through his spirit. It bloomed through the world. And it made a difference to The High Chasm, too, that excitable first beat.
I love what you’ve done with the place. I’ll draw energy from here while I wait.
“You won’t wait long.”
Yay! I’m impatient so that’s the best news ever.
[Zlide].
Swishy thought it was Trey.
He wished it was Trey.
But Trey was right beside him, panic-breathing.
Two slender arms hugged Swishy from behind, wrapping his shoulders. A head leaned against his. Swishy watched the fingers that rubbed his cheeks, fresh red polish, manicured tips—a little feathery debris stuck beneath those gleaming nails.