Mycal was having trouble sleeping. It wasn’t just because he’d had a nap on the return trip and wasn’t all that tired. It wasn’t because he was unsure about how the Twiglings might react to his presence come dawn, although he was keeping a close eye on them while they rested their little wooden bodies, forming a sentient perimeter around the garden. He couldn’t sleep because he couldn’t stop thinking about Aggie and his other self.

Something had changed between them during the ride back. He’d been dimly aware of the two talking while he’d been in his sleep-trance, but he’d only heard Aggie’s side of the conversation. He was sure the other Mycal must have been saying horrible things about him. It’s what he would have done, and they were the same person, weren’t they?

He looked across the garden at where the Other was rooted. They were both growing rapidly in the fertile soil, over two feet now, but his other self appeared to already have an extra inch or two on him. What a smug bastard he was, thinking he was the one Aggie liked most. Him, with his slightly more symmetrical headcap, and that annoyingly polite attitude. Well, Aggie wouldn’t be so enamoured with him when she saw what he was really like. No, no she wouldn’t.

As quietly as he could, he uprooted and crept toward the nearest gap in the living fence. The Twigling closest to him stirred, fumbling for a tiny thornknife and waving it menacingly. Mycal reached down and picked the little creature up, ignoring the sting of its weapon piercing his hand. More stickmen woke as they heard their comrade clacking in distress. They picked up their weapons and began a cautious advance.

Mycal held his captive out for all to see, placing a thumb against what must be the equivalent of its head. Slowly, deliberately, he pushed against it, increasing the pressure until he heard the wood start to splinter. Tiny legs kicking uselessly at the air, it dropped its thornknife and pushed desperately against the thumb with its little arms. With a final flick of his wrist, Mycal snapped the stickman in half. It went limp. The advancing mob faltered. There was a moment where he thought they might rush him, then the moment passed and they reluctantly withdrew, returning to their stations around the garden’s edge.

Satisfied they would cause him no further trouble, Mycal again looked over at the Other. The fool was still deep in a sleep-trance, dreaming his stupid big idiot dreams, oblivious to the epic battle that had just taken place. Enjoy those dreams while you can, dear brother, for soon you will know nothing but an eternal nightmare!

Mycal dropped the splintered body of the stickman and slunk away into the night. He had an egg to find.

* * *

The soft dawn light woke Mycal just in time for him to see the Twiglings coming. Aggie’s garden obviously agreed with him, and he had grown overnight to nearly four feet tall, but he was still reluctant to tangle with the little gardeners. This was their turf after all, and he respected the work they did.

He shook the dirt from his feet, wondering briefly why there was a scattering of mismatched eggshells around him. There was no time to ponder that though as the first wave of stickmen were closing in. Some were carrying tiny ladders and long, saw-toothed branches long enough to take his arms off.

The other Mycal was still dozing, but the gardeners seemed to pay him little attention, if not actively avoid him. Maybe it was a size thing, he thought. His twin was noticeably shorter shorter than he, despite the rich soil and a good night of rest. Perhaps not all garden plots were created equal?

“Are you okay?” he called, circling around the boundary so as not to upset the Twiglings. As he got closer he noticed the smaller Mycal had one eye open, watching him. “Hello?”

"Hello yourself, brother.” The other eye opened, and the two little black orbs glared at him with undisguised hostility.

"Umm…well, I did hello myself. I mean, you’re me, and I’m you.”

"We are nothing alike, you wretch!” The Twiglings began hurrying back from across the garden, forming ranks in front of his shorter twin, spears levelled outwards. “I know what you’re up to! Poisoning her against me! Worming your way into her favour with lies and deceit! You will not succeed in this! You will not!”

“Well…okay, Mycal. Maybe you need some time to…”

"Do not call me that! That is your name! A name for weaklings! I am Mycail! A name you will learn to fear, dear brother…” The Twiglings all took a step forward. Now that they were closer, Mycal though they looked slightly discoloured, as if they had been rolling around in spore dust. He was sure one of them even had a tiny little fungal bulb sprouting from its side.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

"Yes…hmm…that’s nice. I’m going to go now. I hope you feel better soon.”

“May your roots rot and wither, usurper.”

“Uh, thanks. You too. Goodbye.”

* * *

“It was strange, but I felt like I wasn’t happy to see myself.”

Aggie was busy preparing a base for the potions she would brew later, but was doing her best to listen to Mycal while she worked, and he did his best to confuse her. It was becoming obvious he didn’t view his other self as distinctly separate, which made discussing the situation unnecessarily complicated. She looked out the window. Mycail, as he was calling himself, was still there, maybe sleeping, maybe not. “Did you invite him in? He’s just…standing there.”

"If I wanted to come inside I would have. I’m definitely upset about something, but I wouldn’t tell me what it was. I just kept saying weird things, like you when I obviously meant me. I think I must be sick.”

“You’re going to make me sick if you keep talking about him as if he was you.”

“But I am.”

"No, he’s not. Not anymore.” She added another vial of wasp venom to her cauldron. Her reserve was running low and she’d have to send Monkey out for more soon. It was maybe his most hated job, but she’d explained to him several times that it was much quicker to just kick the nest once and run back to the cottage, than to try and collect them one by one.

"But…”

"Mycal, listen to me. Him, out there, Mycail, he’s worked it out already. Maybe he isn’t taking it so well, but he knows. You’re different people now. Maybe you share the same memories, but from the moment I…ahh…slipped…and cut you in half, that’s when you became someone else.”

“I don’t know how to be someone else.”

“Sure you do.” She ladled a spoonful of the mixture with a big wooden spoon and held it up to Mycal’s face. “Here, try this.”

He took a cautious sip, having seen what she’d put in there. “Mmm…it doesn’t taste that poisonous, what with all the toads you used. Maybe more onion?”

Aggie took a sip herself and winced. “Ergh. Yeh, more onion.” She put the spoon down and started digging through a sack. “You know, maybe it would help if you told me a bit about your past. Like…if you have a look at who you were, it might help you come to terms with who you are now?”

"Oh, I don’t know about that…it’s all kind of…errr…complicated.”

“You don’t have to tell me everything. Maybe just a bit about the colony? I tried to scry the caverns once but the reception is terrible. Did you know rock absorbs magic like a sponge? That’s why wizards live in towers, to get away from the interference.”

“I didn’t know that. What’s the difference between a wizard and a witch anyway?”

She found her onion, pulled off the skin and started chopping. “Apart from the claws and feathers? Not all that much really, except for the pay. A wizard would be paid his weight in gold to cure a king’s gout, while I’m lucky if I can even cover the cost of materials on a love potion or a death curse.”

Mycal gasped. “Love potions? You can’t make people fall in love with a potion! That would be…that would be…”

Aggie laughed. “Calm down! You’re right, though, you can’t make people fall in love. Not with magic. Love is its own magic.”

“Then what is the potion for?”

The onion went into the pot. She leaned against the bench and slowly stirred the pot while she examined Mycal. “Tell me, Mr Mushroom…have you ever watched animals…pairing? Mating?”

He paused for a moment. “Like…sporing? Is that what you mean?”

"Ahh…yes, I suppose I do. Well, people spore too, in a lot of different ways. Sometimes it’s male and female sporing together, or male and male, or male-female and female-male. But sometimes they need a bit of help to…get ready. That’s what a love potion does. It helps you make love, not find love. Although admittedly some people seem to think they’re the same thing.”

“What do you think?”

“About what?”

“Are they the same thing?”

Aggie said nothing, feeling a rush of heat through her body, and a name come unbidden to her mind.

“Are you okay?”

She closed her eyes tightly, trying to banish the intrusive thoughts. “I’m fine!”

“Are you sure? You’re ripening very fast.”

“What?”

"Your colour, you’re almost ripe.”

"Oh.” She opened her eyes and touched a claw to her cheek, then waved the other hand in a complex pattern. The air shimmered and hardened, forming a flat reflective oval in front of her face. “Urgh. I look human. Gross.” Another wave of her hand dissolved the mirror. “Anyway, I was asking you about the colony.”

“And I was asking you if love and sporing are the same thing.”

“Well…you go first, and maybe I will answer your very rude question after.”

He shifted shiftily, and she noticed the way he was looking at her loose-fitting shift. “Sure, okay. So…the colony? Well, colonies is probably more accurate. There isn’t just one big one. Like…if you believe in the inalienable rights of the working proletariat, you probably join the Clusterists in the upper levels, while the Fatcaps control the dampest caverns in the Deep Down. There are the Morelists…you don’t want to mess with them, they work for the Fatcaps, making sure everyone is working and no one is thinking. Most artists and musicians join the Psychedelics. There are others, but nearly everyone spends some time in one of the Big Four.”

“Interesting. Which faction were you in?”

“I…was…umm…my parents enlisted me in the Morelists when I was quite young. But I left and joined the Clusterists, until the…ahhh…well, that’s another story. Before I left the colony I was living with the Psychedelics.”

"A mushroom of many hats..."

"Caps."

"Of course. A mushroom of many caps. But never a Fatcap?"

"Well…kind of…but only by birth. My parents were Fatcaps. We had a bit of a falling out when I refused to do my tour of duty with the Morelists. I suppose I could have stayed in the Deep Down, but I hated it there. They’re all a bunch of stinkhorns.”

Aggie tasted the pot again. Better. “So did you see your parents at all after that?”

“No. I didn’t even say goodbye to them before I left.”

"Oh man I know what that’s like. I haven’t spoken to my mothers in years.” She put the lid back on the cauldron and started cleaning the bench. “Sooo…a Psychedelic huh? Does that mean you’re an artist?”

"A musician actually.”

"Yeh? What do you play?”

“I...ahh...I play with myself.” Mycal looked out the window, and Aggie followed his gaze.

Mycail was gone.