Malcolm and Clover popped their heads around the corner and saw the big intercity bus parked there on the curb. Other Scouts were already trickling into it, leaving their luggage out for a burly man on the sidewalk to take and toss into the storage space under the seats. Perfect.
Clover turned to Malcolm and smiled, patting the big family-sized suitcase she'd brought with her; the largest one they could find on such short notice. "Let's get you in there."
It was a good thing that the streets were still mostly empty, early as it was. No one else saw Malcolm pocket his glasses and shove himself into the suitcase, his small stature useful for once, though he didn't like to acknowledge how the whole plan banked on that. He laid in a fetal position, arms wrapped around his knees, wishing it would have been more comfortable but not having really expected any better. At least he wouldn't need to do this the whole way over.
The suitcase closed, flipped upright, and soon Malcolm felt the tremor of wheels as Clover rolled him to the bus, then the sudden pause as she stopped in front of it. Muffled, he heard her voice, then a deeper one gruff something out, and then he felt himself suddenly weightless, wobbling, and grunting as the whole world fell on its side.
He didn't dare come out yet, and could feel the rumble of the bus engine, the bounce of each new suitcase that got tossed in the pile. Malcolm closed his eyes—though dark as it was it didn't make much of a difference—and tried not to think about how much this felt like being buried alive.
Eventually Malcolm heard the rumble of the engine. He could picture the bus driving out from the curb and into what traffic there was heading out of the city. Still, he gave it a few more minutes, just in case. Then, finally, he allowed himself to push the suitcase open and get some stretching room.
The view was still dark, though there was some dull light, enough for Malcolm to see the vague outline of his hand and the nearest pile of luggage. He took out his phone and turned on the flashlight, just to get his bearings. A mound of bags met him, most of them small enough that there was some open space, exposing the bare floor beneath.
All the while Malcolm felt the vibration of a moving vehicle, sometimes bumping along with what he supposed to be a crack on the concrete under the wheels or some such. Sighing, he laid down, trying to make himself some modicum of comfortable even as he knew it wouldn’t be likely.
But surprisingly his head met something rather soft. Certainly didn't feel like hard plastic or even rough and full nylon. Some duffel bag?
"Hey, that's my leg."
Malcolm bolted up, fumbled to put his glasses on, flashed his phone around, and saw nothing. He'd definitely heard that, and it didn't come from upstairs.
Just as he began to consider his own insanity, Red suddenly popped into existence, hand raised in greeting. "Surprise?"
"What..." Malcolm looked from Red's grin to the ring in his other hand. "What," he repeated, shuffling over on his knees. Grabbing Red's shirt, he shook the other boy as violently as he could. "What are you doing here you moron?!"
Red let himself be shaken. "Okay, I can see you're mad, but I can explain."
Malcolm stopped, waiting in silence.
"First of all," Red started, "If you didn't want me coming, you guys shouldn't have hyped this place up so much."
Malcolm began shaking him again, nose flared. "That's not a good reason at all!"
"Second of all," Red continued, bringing his hand up. "That girl Kitty asked me to come so I could give you this thing."
At this, Malcolm stopped again, staring at the ring sitting on Red's palm. Hesitantly, he took it, rolling it slowly between his fingers. "This... What is this?"
"Ring of Gee Gee, or something like that," Red said, lying down. "It turns you invisible. Not bad, huh? I mean, if you're gonna be doing some Mission Impossible shit you're gonna need a gadget or two."
A Talisman? It was convenient, but Malcolm had never seen this ring before. How long had Kitty had it? Who had given it to her? Why had she never told anyone? The questions spun around in his head. That girl had always been so tough to figure out.
Regardless, this was perfect. Bishop's computer was sure to be in some kind of secure location, and if Malcolm was being honest he hadn't been sure he could reach it without getting spotted. They would've thought up a better plan if there had been more time, but well, too late now.
Too late now, Malcolm thought again, looking at Red as the other boy made himself comfortable among the pile of suitcases. He was still mad, but Red was there now whether he liked it or not, and they were on their way. What was he gonna do, call Clover and tell her to stop the bus so that everyone could see the stowaway? Better to not arouse any suspicion, for his own sake if nothing else. They'd just have to deal with Red, somehow. What a mess...
"I haven't been on a road trip in a while," Red said, yawning into his hand. "Not as fun without a radio, but I guess I shouldn't complain too much."
"Okay," Malcolm said. He closed his eyes, breathed in, breathed out. "Okay. We have some time before we get there. How do we get you in?"
Red stuck a pinky in his ear. "I dunno, what were you gonna do?"
Malcolm's eyes strayed to the suitcase he'd hidden inside of. "How tall are you again?"
- - - — MKII — - - -
They'd abandoned the concrete road several hours before, swerving into an old dirt path overgrown with grass and surrounded by trees. The sun climbed higher all the while, and Clover saw it through the window until it was too bright to keep looking.
Was Malcolm fine below? Would he be later, once they pulled in? Exactly how much trouble would she get in once he got caught, as she was almost certain he would be? Stupid plan, but then again her mother still hadn't responded to anything either today or the day before. Don't come, she'd said. You'll know after.
The complete absence of any useful information gnawed at her. Clover looked around at her company for what must've been the hundredth time. All Eco-Scouts, some from the city, others from surrounding areas, and a small few from even further away. They chatted or slept or read or, very rarely, stared down at their phones. None seemed the slightest bit bothered by anything. How lucky.
The one sitting next to her slept in his seat, dozing silently. Sam, he'd called himself. Clover had boarded and they'd talked a little, but when he asked if she was excited for this year she struggled to respond with much enthusiasm. She at least tried to not look as worried as she felt, but it must've come across some because the conversation hadn't survived ten minutes.
Eventually she had to take her mind off things. She reached into the bag she kept under her seat and pulled out a book. To Kill a Mockingbird, her dad's favorite, the paperback worn and wrinkled from years of use. They'd almost called her Scout, but seeing as they'd also hoped for her to eventually join the ELD they'd thankfully changed their minds. A Scout called Scout, god knew how much grief she'd have gotten for that.
Clover read through a couple chapters. Before I can live with other folks I've got to live with myself. Honestly, Atticus was a bit too perfect. Paragon of goodness. Then again, she didn’t have too many complaints about her own father, little as she had to remember him by, so she couldn't exactly complain about a lack of realism.
She read a bit more, until from the corner of her eye, she saw it. A distant bush at first, but as the bus crept closer it grew and grew and grew until it took up all the windows and covered them from the sun entirely.
High above them, reaching up into the sky so tall that it was impossible not to notice, stood the trunk of a tree. This close it was a trunk, because the rest of the tree was too large to be fully grasped all at once. Its width spread for what seemed like a mile on either side, and as her eyes trailed up Clover saw it branched out into the clouds.
Wrapping around the trunk like a snake was a platform made of sanded wood, and on it Clover saw the minute impressions of what looked like people. Some walked up and down the platform, while others rode atop some indecipherable beast in large groups.
The bus came closer, and at the base of the tree Clover saw the hollow opening that stretched out at least two stories up, like a great big mouth. Clover noted further the roots growing around them like hills, some stabbing up out of the ground, others slipping slowly down into it in graceful arcs.
The North American World Tree. The largest living thing in the continent, its orange-red leaves stretching up thousands of feet into the sky, a miniature mountain made solely out of organic matter. The other Scouts looked up from their phones or their conversations too, and even Sam woke up to see. When Clover glanced back at him, he smiled groggily.
"Never gets old, huh?" he said, and Clover had to agree. She got blown away by the sight no matter how many times she saw it.
The bus pulled in right at the foot of the tree, parking in an open clearing of dirt and grass that led to the entrance. Clover stood along with everyone else, and they all made their way down the steps. Coming outside, she breathed in the clean, damp air, raised her arms over her head to stretch after some five hours on the road, and tried not to look too interested in their luggage already amassing on the grass.
The ones taking it down were a sight in themselves, though one she was more used to. One, big and burly, wore a loose t-shirt over furry goat legs, tail swishing out behind him, white horns stark against a mop of brown hair. Next to him stood another burly man, this one wearing pants, head sandwiched between two big horse ears.
A genuine faun and satyr, long relegated to myth and legend, out in mundane life but common enough in the ELD to act as simple porters.
Clover waved at them, and after a quick glance between them they waved back, smiles strained. Well, it was hard enough work without having to look all friendly about it.
Soon something else made its way over: five giant snails, all the size of cars, their shells replaced by rows of wooden seats. They crawled quickly, coating the grass in slick ooze as they did, and reached the group in short order.
Sitting atop the snail at the front of the group, riding it like a steed, sat a woman with green skin, hair an afro of orange maple leaves. Her eyes passed over them, sparkling purple. A forest nymph.
"Howdy!" she said, waving and pulling up beside them. "Welcome home, y'all. I'm sure you're hungry. Hop on in, I'll take ya to the others at the mess hall."
"What about our stuff?" Someone asked, and Clover thanked them because now she didn't have to ask the same thing.
"Oh, don't you worry a bit about it. These guys'll bring 'em up to your rooms. Won't ya, gentlemen?"
Again the faun and satyr looked at each other, and the former nodded with only some hesitation. "We have help on the way. Shouldn't take too long."
"See?" the nymph said. "Nothin' to it."
That was enough to convince the rest, so Clover was forced to follow the other Scouts and climb atop one of the snails, settling into her cramped seat.
"It's a tight fit, but we'll be there in a jiffy," the nymph said, and that was fine to hear, but Clover had other things on her mind.
Namely that Malcolm better be patient because it looked like they'd have to wait a bit to regroup. Well, if they dropped him off at her room then maybe that'd be enough to stretch his legs, even if he'd be stuck there until she got back. Should probably sneak him some food too.
Even as she thought this, Malcolm stepped gingerly out of the luggage compartment, Kitty's translucent ring wrapped around his finger. Invisible to everyone around him, no one noticed when he followed after the transport snail on foot, careful not to step on the mucus trail it left in its wake.
The faun and satyr watched the guests leave, slowly, slowly, and as soon as the Scouts were far enough away both settled their lips into a grimace.
"Damn humans," the faun muttered. He dropped the next suitcase he took from the bus with little care, so that it bounced harshly off the others. "Hess, just look at all this shit. They're here for two days."
"Heh, look at this one, Marky," Hesiod the satyr said, and with a heave pulled out the largest suitcase yet. "Jumbo-size."
"What a waste."
Hesiod dropped it on the pile, stuck his head in the luggage compartment, saw nothing left. "I think that's the last one."
"Good."
Marcus went over to the front of the bus, looked in at the driver, who sat there in a sort of daze. Great, he thought, one of the mundane ones.
Guy probably couldn't quite believe his surroundings even as he looked right at them, and Marcus couldn’t have felt more disgust at knowing it. There were humans, and then there were humans. Chances were this one would barely even remember driving out such a long way.
Banging on the open door, Marcus whistled, catching the driver's attention. "Hey buddy, you're all empty. Feel free to leave now."
"Sure," the driver said, voice vague, face in a sort of daze. Looking up at the world tree one last time with a combination of awe and skepticism, the driver closed the bus door, kicked the pedal, and peeled out in short order. Marcus and Hesiod watched him leave as they had the Scouts, though this time their eyes narrowed on the smoky blackness that came from the bus' exhaust, noses wrinkling.
Hesiod turned to look at the faun, noting the anger, and patted him on the back. "Hey, no worries. Just two days, right?"
Marcus tried for a smile. "Right. Just two days." He turned back to their pile of luggage, sighing. "Now where's that stupid kid?"
Hesiod pointed. "Look, he's coming."
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Glancing over, they saw yet another giant snail making its way over, this one's shell a big rectangular bowl; the cargo variety. On its saddle sat sat a scrawny figure dressed casually like them, his legs furry like the faun's. Most striking was his head, that of a bull's from the shoulders up, with a broad bull's nose and beady bull eyes.
It would've been an imposing sight if it wasn't for the horns, or rather the lack of them. Where a bull should have great big horns curving forth by the temples, he only had small little nubs that barely popped out from his fur. It ll gave the image of a bobblehead more than any sort of imposing minotaur. A round bull's head atop a pencil-thin body.
Watching him come, Hesiod waved. "Hey, Dimple!"
Grimacing, Dimple gulped down a response, trying to avoid their eyes. He pulled his snail up alongside the pile of luggage, hesitated, gave the animal a brief pat to calm his nerves. "Hey, you guys… I guess you called for help with all this stuff?"
"Sure, not like we can carry all this up ourselves," Marcus grumbled. With a heave, he took one of the bags and tossed it carelessly up into the cargo bed. "Come on, get down here and make yourself useful for once."
Dimple gave his snail another pat, and the thing looked around its neck to purr a slimy, guttural sound. He got down as Hesiod tossed another bag over, and heard a rattle come once it hit the wooden surface.
"You guys, aren't you being a bit rough?" Dimple asked, voice reedy.
Marcus tossed another bag, shrugging. "Who cares."
Hesiod actually opened one of the bags and dug around it, letting clothes fall onto the dirt. "Check this out," he said, holding up a small case. Popping it open, he grabbed the aviator sunglasses inside and slipped them on, wagging his eyebrows. "Looks good, huh?"
Looking nervously at him, Dimple took a bag and reached up to place it gently with the others on the snail. "I think they'll see if their stuff is missing..."
"Don't be such a killjoy, Dimple." Arms akimbo, Hesiod looked down at the last remaining suitcase—the largest one of the group. "Hrm. Need some help here, Marky."
The faun walked over, brow furrowed. "Great, this one."
Hesiod bent down. "Wonder what they've got in here," he said, and started fiddling with the latch.
To everyone's surprise, the suitcase shook. A little hop. Hesiod pulled his hand back as if he'd been bitten. He and Marcus stared down at it in blank confusion, and even Dimple did the same, sidling closer to the giant snail.
Slowly, Hesiod reached over again, and the suitcase shook once more, wilder this time. "Do they have a dog in here or something?"
The suitcase shook a third time, and now he hunched closer, set to pop it open.
That is, until the suitcase flew open itself, so fast and hard that it slammed right into Hesiod's chin like a door kicked open from the ground. The blow pushed him up stumbling to his hooves, his hand numbly reaching for his jaw, eyes glazed over. He took a step back, another, then fell on his back, out cold.
From the suitcase rose a small figure. Arms raised up over his head, hands drawn into fists, Red stretched out with a long and loud yawn.
"Man, that was cramped," he said, stepping out onto the grass. Then, looking around, he saw Marcus and Dimple staring at him in befuddled horror. He blinked at the tails, the fur, the bull head. Well, better to be polite, so Red raised his hand in greeting. "Yo."
Marcus glanced down at Hesiod, who had yet to so much as twitch on the ground, and gulped to comfort a now dry throat. "You just… knocked him out."
Red followed his gaze and saw the fainted satyr for the first time. "Oh. Whoops." Still, he continued stretching, now turning on his hip. "My bad."
"Wait, you're not supposed to be here," Marcus said, the realization coming with the words. "Who even… What are you doing here?!"
A near repeat of Malcolm's reaction. Everyone was being such a killjoy.
"I'm just sightseeing," Red said. Speaking of which, he finally looked around wherever this was, and his eyes immediately zeroed in on the giant, horizon-spanning tree whose shadow they stood under. Whistling, Red held a hand over his eyes, looking up against the light. "Woah. Radical."
"Hey, stop being so casual about this!" Marcus said, stomping forward. Now that the shock had worn off a bit, he could start feeling the righteous anger this situation demanded. "You're in big trouble, human! Let's see what security has to say about this!"
Red held out a hand and shook his head, a silent cease a desist. "Sorry, but I can't get caught yet."
Marcus looked down at him, glaring. "Well, sorry, but I don't care. I'm bringing you in."
"No you're not."
"Yes I am!"
"Nope."
"We'll see what happens, then!" Marcus said. Incensed, he grabbed Red's wrist and pulled, turning around to lead the way.
It took him a moment to realize that he was staying in place. He looked down at his hooves and saw them sliding across the grass in a pantomime of walking, like he'd suddenly entered some cartoon. Then, he looked back at Red, who stood still and stable with his arm held out, staring back boredly. Frowning, Marcus dug his hooves and pulled on Red's arm. Nothing happened. The boy didn't budge even a little. The faun pulled harder, back dipping toward the ground.
Dimple saw all this, his eyes wide, mouth hanging open. He saw Marcus plant his hooves to pull, then use both arms, then go around Red and try to push the boy from behind. He tried to pick the boy up off the ground, but Red's feet seemed glued to it.
"You’re pretty weak, huh?" Red said, looking at Marcus with something akin to pity.
"That's... really beside the point," Marcus grunted, coming to stand before him. "Look, human, whether you like it or not—"
Red calmly reached over and put a hand on the fau'’s chest. With a lazy push, he sent Marcus flying back a good thirty yards before the faun crumpled to the ground in an unconscious heap. With the same hand, Red covered his mouth and yawned.
"Anyway, I'm hungry. Hey." Now Red turned to Dimple, who trembled all over, back against the purring snail. "Where's the food around here?"
Somehow, Dimple raised a finger, thinking, You shouldn't be here, mister, but the words caught in his throat. He glanced down at Hesiod, then at Marcus some ways away, both out cold on the ground.
Following his eyes, Red waved it off. "Oh, don't worry, I didn't break anything. I think." Seeing this didn't help and the minotaur was still shaking, Red put his hands in his pockets and walked slowly over. "Hey, don't be scared, I'm harmless."
Dimple watched him closer and could only lean further up against the snail. "Y-You..."
"I've never seen one of these," Red said, turning to the snail's head. The giant animal watched him, both eye-stems curved down to see, and with zero hesitation Red reached up to pet it on the head. One, two pets, and the snail purred even as a string of mucus stuck to Red's fingers. Still, it made him smile a bit when the snail leaned back down for more, so Red obliged. "Wow, this is super gross."
Dimple watched, still scared but now also fascinated to see that the same boy who'd immediately knocked out two people after sneaking into a prohibited facility then proceeded to pamper his transport snail like a cooing dog owner. People had all sorts of sides to them, Dimple knew, but it wasn’t every day he met someone who so frankly and quickly went from one to the other.
"My name's Red," the boy said, turning back to Dimple. "What's yours?"
Somehow, Dimple managed to find his voice. "It's, uh, Joseph. But everyone calls me Dimple... because of the horns." Or the lack of them.
Red didn't seem to be paying much attention, looking down at Hesiod's unconscious body. "Sweet," he said, detaching himself from the snail and wiping the mucus off on his hoodie. Crouching by Hesiod, he grabbed the sunglasses off the satyr's face, turned them over in his hand, and put them on with a grin. "Hey, how 'bout it, Bull Boy? Perfect disguise."
"You, uh, have that big tattoo on your face..."
"Well, nothing I can do about that," Red said, shrugging. He brought up his hood and pulled at the strings, closing it around his face. Plenty of people got away with this in movies. Standing, he looked up at the giant tree before him. Its leaves seemed to break through the cloudy sky, their tops hidden by that cotton ceiling. "Alright, to the cafeteria."
Dimple stepped forward despite himself. "Uh, hey, you can't..." Seeing Red turn to him, he shrunk back, stammering to explain himself. "I-I mean, you'll g-get caught! Yeah. Um... I know where to find food?"
"Oh, why didn't you say so?" Red smiled, holding his stomach. "Alright, let's get going before someone finds these two out here."
"Sure... Hop on."
Dimple gestured to the snail, mounting it himself, and Red followed his example, settling into the cargo bed with the luggage, sitting right atop one of the bags for comfort.
"This is so cool," Red said, leaning back, hands behind his head. "Talk about a day trip. Hey, so what's with the costume?"
Kicking the snail forward, Dimple held the reins, too nervous to look behind at the intruder. "Um, not a costume. This is my real face."
Red looked at him, really looked, eyes narrowed behind the dark lenses. Then, when the truth of it couldn't be denied, he hummed with brief appreciation. "Dude, I didn't know there were animal people. Far out."
Dimple nodded, all the while wondering how he'd fallen into this situation. Not like he could do anything about it. Try to call for help and this Red would probably knock him senseless just like he'd done to Marcus and Hesiod.
Only one solution then: lead the boy to someone who could actually deal with that impressive strength. Maybe a stop for food along the way, just so he wouldn't get suspicious. Or angry.
"So, when does the party start?" Red asked.
Lost in thought, it took Dimple a bit to find his way back. "Huh? You mean Jubilee?"
"Sure. I heard it was a rager."
"It should be starting soon," Dimple said, though he hadn’t been made aware of the details. "It m-might even be starting now."
It was like looking down a steep cliff. Sitting there with Red, Dimple just hoped he wouldn't be the one getting pushed off. But even as he hoped for that, Marcus struggled to retain consciousness, watching from the ground as the snail grew smaller and smaller into the distance and towards the world tree, a human intruder atop it, and that coward Dimple at the reins.
- - - — MKII — - - -
After a long trip aboard transport snails, Clover and the other Scouts were led into the dining pavilion; a giant, circular room the size of a small stadium. Its walls, floor, and ceiling were sandpapered and laminated to perfection, so smooth that light reflected off them like marble. Inside, three rings of round tables circled its perimeter, lengthy enough to serve hundreds of people. Even so, most milled around on their feet, talking in groups, holding amber goblets and horn cups, reaching down to swipe a grape or some cheese off woven baskets.
It was a frenzied, multicolored crowd of all sorts—green nymphs, blue dryads, fauns and satyrs, centaurs standing proud on their great horse bodies, little elves on their tiptoes, moss goblins with their fuzzy patches, furry sasquatches a full two heads taller than everyone else, mushroom toadies with their fungal heads like umbrellas, beastmen of all sorts, some with wolf snouts, others with antlers or horns, others still with long and beautiful fox tails. All wore togas, shirts of bark, robes made of spider silk. Some even stood naked, parts hidden only by leaves or shells.
But at the center, even more than the crowd surrounding it or the massive space which contained it, stood the most impressive wonder.
Rising high into the room, almost touching the ceiling some forty yards up, was a giant flower. Its stem was as thick as any tree, and its many white petals were wide and plum enough to use as blankets. It was covered in a strange, thick sap that glowed green, and a tidal wave of fireflies circled it, some coming to rest on the sap to eat, others drifting off in clouds and flying around the room in waves of light.
"That's Halcyon for you," Sam said next to her, voice taken up by awe. "It's taller than last time. They'll have to cut out another hole soon."
Clover nodded dumbly. Halcyon never stopped growing, and it had been planted five whole decades before. Its stem popped out of a hole in the floor, sprouting far below at the entrance chamber and rising through several floors all the way to where it bloomed now.
Before she could appreciate its majesty any longer, a gong went off, its low, clean ring filling the whole room in long echoes. Muttering quietly, everyone turned to the smaller table at the back.
It stood higher than the rest, flanked as it was by short staircases, and sitting behind it were four figures whose presence seemed to spill down like a roiling fog of pressure. Clover recognized them all, and it was only right that she did, since they were the ones in charge.
One of them was a beastwoman, her face nestled under a crown of white and blue feathers. Those same feathers wrapped down her neck and over her muscular arms, stopping short of big, strong hands. She gripped the glittering silver lance at her side with one hand, while the other settled on the head of a massive chimera. Its lion head growled at them all from its place alongside the high table, white fur encompassing its whole figure and interrupted only by the swishing scorpion tail and the giant, browning wings folded up at its sides.
Staring them all down with a confidently stern command was Lorcana, Head of Security, and her bonded partner, Khurang.
On her left sat a slim figure with four arms, the extra set sprouting right underneath the first and crossed before a caved-in stomach. His reddish skin spread tightly, almost as if it were too small for his body, and his thin lips curved around the bottom of his face in a wide smile of shark teeth; unsettling enough, but then again, no one expected much else from a forest demon.
His slanted cat eyes regarding everyone in the room with dark amusement, so sat Silviamon, Head of Communications.
At the table's other end sat a block of fur and muscle, easily twice the size of everyone else, so large he barely avoided falling off his comparatively puny seat. Arms like barrels flanked a naked and bulging chest, and his bull head settled proudly under two thick horns, nose decorated with a gold ring piercing. His laugh, which came easy and often, boomed heavily over the quieting chatter of the crowd.
Each hand holding a great wooden mug and head thrown back to drink from them, here sat the minotaur Alexander, Head Supervisor.
Finally, at the table's center, stood the most impressive of all. An alien figure of otherworldly grace and poise, skin a pale blank white, not sickly but instead solid and thick like porcelain, almost reflective under the firefly light, hidden under a heavy and regal red robe. Thick curls of hair bobbed down to the shoulders, glittering a bright yellow, and that same yellow shone out from a pair of round eyes, twin suns staring out at the crowd, lacking pupils, or even whites.
This figure, the sole fairy in the room, more like a statue than a living thing, could only be Harmony, Chief Director of the ELD.
The High Council towered over their subordinates like gods. Just looking at them, Clover could feel the power and authority rippling out in psychic waves, and so it was no surprise when their gong cast a spell of absolute silence.
Still, Clover's eyes were—with some effort—drawn to the sole empty seat at this table of leaders, where her mother should have sat. The absence deepened the well of anxiety that she'd carried all day, and that well only deepened more when Harmony raised an amber glass, porcelain arm moving with mechanical efficiency.
"Creatures of the forest," they said, not bothering to shout or even raise their voice. It came clearly to every ear, as if spoken right to it despite needing to carry across the whole pavilion, a voice like the wind. "Invited staff, and our Scouts who journeyed so far to come. We in the High Council welcome you to this most crucial event. Thank you all for joining us."
Applause came naturally, as if to fill the void of their pause. Clover joined it, surrounded as she was by the clapping, but stopped as soon as Harmony raised their glass once more. All at once, silence descended again, and they all waited.
"Our institution was founded only half a century ago," Harmony continued. "It is the most concentrated effort we Greenkin have made at protecting and reclaiming the wilderness which mankind has more often than not taken to conquer. It is often as difficult as it is thankless. For fifty years we have worked, and for fifty years we have seen rivers poisoned, skies clogged with smoke, forests plowed to dust. We work with Rangers to curb their ruthlessness, but so often their interests align with those of our enemies, and so often their power is used as a cudgel against our care."
All along Harmony retained a face lacking in expression, speaking a string of dry facts, but with each word Clover felt the crowd around her vibrate, felt some eyes on her and the other Scouts. A kind of weight squeezed down on her, and she felt her ears heat up, wavering between second-hand embarrassment and something else, her deepening well.
"When this all began, I stood alone at the base of this tree." Harmony gestured with their free hand towards the great flower at the room's center, and its green nectar seemed to glow at the attention. "I planted this wonder as a symbol of my determination. A promise that one day, the Earth will be green and wild again. A promise that we children of the Earth will finally live in peace."
Yellow eyes scanned the room. "Now, fifty years later, I am no longer alone. You've all been invited here to participate in that dream, to help us realize it. Perhaps, mankind will one day recognize how much damage they truly deal. How sick they make us to our stomachs. But we know what must be done, and I am proud to see us here, together and willing after all these years to find new solutions. The sacrifices we make now..."
Harmony closed their eyes, and the light of the room seemed to dim. "Those sacrifices will soon be recompensed. We children of the Earth will win. I promise you that. But enough stalling. With the powers given to me by my office, I call this, our fiftieth annual Jubilee, officially commenced!"
The room erupted into new applause, and right at that moment, pixies burst into the room, Small and winged bodies carrying platters of food over their heads. Fruit and vegetables of every color, lavish and glistening meats for the carnivores, a potpourri of bread and sauces, oils and garnishes, the smell assaulting to every nose, the sound the ring of bronze and amber.
The band in one end of the room started to play, strings and flutes paired with a row of drums. The pixies set the great plates down onto the tables, and almost immediately everyone rushed to a seat and began to eat with ravenous frenzy.
The room that had just seconds ago been completely silent now filled with chatter and cheering and music and laughter and sliding chairs.
Clover got right to feasting with everyone else. Sam gave her a plate of bread, and she took two loaves before passing it along. She smiled, laughed, shared stories, tried to look happy. But all throughout, amongst the noise, she didn't forget Malcolm out there, or that her mother was still nowhere to be found. And she didn't forget that anxious well of fear that had dug into her gut.