《The Madman's Sword》


 The Killing of Mrs. Apple

    Water rippled in the glass on the table. Mrs. Apple felt a tremor through the soles of her shoes. Through the window she saw a dust cloud billowing in the east over the tree line. She thought she heard a squawk. She knew she heard one now. She hurried to the door and pulled it open. A monster of a bird raced by and she slammed the door shut.


    Feathered drakuls.


    Shakily, she locked her door and stepped back to stare at the jiggling handle - her windows rattling, dust she¡¯d meant to get to sprinkling the living room floor in a way that reddened her cheeks.


    She hurried for the dustpan but froze when she heard another squawk, this one a bellow so deep it tickled her ears to hear it and left them ringing.


    Another trampling, squawking tirade storming past in a gust of dust and spattering debris.


    And then stillness. Silence.


    She noticed her heavy breathing. In, out, her heart drumming thump, thump, thump.


    She stood there utterly still; and then, on impulse, she grabbed the ladle in her sink, clutching it tightly in white knuckles.


    Slowly, she headed toward the front door. She gripped its knob but stopped; she couldn''t will herself to turn it. There, she stood in stillness. In silence.


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    Suddenly, the logs supporting her ceiling imploded in a splintering mess of wood shards and dangling beams. And there, on her floor, was the Flowers¡¯ boy. What was his name again? The rotten bastard of a boy. The pest! The nuisance!


    She saw his eyes widen and, with her own, found the source of his sudden panic. A monster of a bird, all of twelve feet high, stood huffing and puffing at the doorway the impact left swinging ajar, his grotesquely massive, clawed feet and knobby carrot-orange legs visible up to the sticky under-feathers of his abdomen; his monstrous head was visible; he stared inside dead-eyed through a hole in the ceiling up above. The boy ¨C Windston is his name! ¨C hurled himself into the bird and they tumbled together down her beautiful porch steps, utterly pulverizing them.


    Suddenly enraged, the old woman hurried out into the sunlight and, with her ladle overhead, let out a squawk of her own as she rushed the nearest bird.


    Another bird saw her. It snatched her, and slung her, her ribs crunching, her wind gone, her mouth salty, her limbs tingling, her eyes all but bursting from immense pressure and a sudden fire in her belly, a gagging like she never felt before.


    The monster released its bite or she ripped apart, flew away, weightless. She could see the Flowers¡¯ boy but he couldn¡¯t see her. She could only hear her own screams, until, suddenly, they were cut short. There was a warm and tingling feeling from front to back, almost a tickle as her organs slid from her open upper half, her bottom half still tumbling ¨C kicking, kicking, kicking as it tumbled.


    The last thing she saw, as she lay there, in half, bleeding out, was the boy¡¯s face. Windston Flowers¡¯s face. It was blood-smudged with drakul blood, feathers pasted to that one side, his cheek. It was otherwise neutral, if not disgusted or disturbed.


    But he was pushed aside. And as she gargled and gagged and choked, and the darkness as the world faded kicked in, the last things she saw, as they were close enough to see, were the nostrils of Bo Beeman''s bulbous Beeman nose. He¡¯d knelt to tell her she''d be okay.

 One: The Red Star

    In the light of the morning sun, as petals whooshed behind him in his flurry, Windston, racing rooftop to rooftop, tree to tree, realized something. He was alone. There were people all around, glaring at him from porches or as they worked their chores. But he was alone, all alone, and for the first time since before the Flowers family took him in ¨C and he didn''t remember any of that. He wasn¡¯t the kind of alone one seeks to be to be by themselves. But alone as a condition, as a hard fact. He was alone. He was actually alone. The more he ran, which he did as he was late to Bo¡¯s summons, the more he realized just how alone he was. He had no friends that were like brothers to him. No neighbors his age looked out for him. And he couldn''t think of one pretty girl that he liked that actually liked him back. And yeah, he did have one friend in King Frank. But that didn''t count, as King Frank was old, and he was alone himself. Windston realized ¨C really admitted to himself ¨C that he was such a freak, he couldn''t even have a bully to pick on him; he was too fast, too strong, and too impervious to pain. So if this meeting with Bo turned out like he thought it would, and he was kicked out of Zephyr for good, no one would stand up for him. No one would shout that this isn''t fair. No one would say he''d done his best. No one at all, now that his parents were gone. Because no one would care. Not really.


    And he realized, as he skidded to a stop on the road in front of the mayoral mansion and peered through the dust cloud at what had been his home, that¡­ he didn''t either.


    What he saw inside reaffirmed that feeling.


    Or lack thereof.


    Movers toted his mother''s wardrobe. In the kitchen, he saw a guy pocket a silver spoon. Down the hall from there he saw some other guy wrestling a painting off the wall. None of them so much as glanced at him, said they were sorry for his loss. And frankly, he didn''t expect them to. He expected them to take what they could while the taking was good, just as Mayor Bo had done during the emergency election.


    And so, as he found his way to his father''s office, now Mayor Bo¡¯s, he made it a point to himself that he had to do what he could to get back the only thing he truly thought of as his, or else end the worst week ever with nothing.


    ¡°You sent for me, Mayor Bo?¡± he asked.


    Bo, who had been jamming his palms into his eyes, blinked up at him. ¡°Take a seat,¡± he said with a gesture toward the opposite side of the desk.


    Windston hesitated before stepping further inside. He''d often played in this office when it was his father''s. But it felt odd setting foot within it now that it was so suddenly Bo Beeman''s. Windston¡¯s father''s books were already missing from shelves that now displayed a collection of rooster figurines. And the bear skin on the floor was gone, replaced by a bright rug elves wove in Mannley. Despite the further jarring of these changes, Windston persisted; he focused on what he was forced to abandon on the floor in the office closet. His gaze was intense in focus. It was aimed in that direction. His mouth all but hung until it flooded, forcing him to swallow


    Bo seemed to notice. Everyone in town had seen the boy flaunting the peculiar sword the day before the attack. Mayor Flowers must have had a lapse in judgement. Or maybe he had had a moment of clairvoyance. Had he not given the boy, as a reckless gift, that sword, how many others might have died?


    ¡°Now, I see you looking over there at that closet, Windston,¡± he said, snapping Windston out of his daze. ¡°We both know what''s in there.¡±


    Windston met his eyes, but only as a glance.


    ¡°Now I know how you must feel about all this,¡± he went on, his eyes droopy, the whites red and streaked with veins not so unlike the purple bolts that flashed about the surface of Windston''s very unusual sword. ¡°Do you hear what I¡¯m telling you, boy?¡± Bo asked louder this time.


    Windston looked at Bo, who had opened his desk drawer and, while blabbing on about something, managed to stack an entire pile of letters from it on his desktop without Windston¡¯s notice.


    ¡°As you can see, I''ve accumulated my own little Ice Mountain of complaints here. And they''re all about you. So we¡¯re gonna figure this out.¡±


    ¡°Figure what out?¡± Windston asked.


    ¡°How to pay for the damages you caused,¡± Bo replied. ¡°These are complaints about what happened Saturday. Porch bannisters, windows, tables ¨C everything else you destroyed.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, oh. Oh, crap,¡± Bo said. Standing, groaning, he said, ¡°What a week,¡± and shuffled on slippers to a cart new to the office. On it was a doyly beneath three overturned glasses and a bottle of Honey Bo Beeman¡¯s Premium Bee-Tree Mead.


    ¡°I''m sorry about your parents,¡± he said. He poured a glass and downed it, poured another and returned to his seat. There, he slid the pile of letters back into his desk drawer, closed it. Next, he leaned on his elbows, rubbing his temples as his glasses, crooked and sliding forward, slipped off his face and fell on the table.


    The clatter drew Windston¡¯s attention away from the closet. But the blue light showing through the gap beneath the door drew it back.


    ¡°They were great people, and I''m sorry they had to go the way they went,¡± Bo said.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Windston said back.


    ¡°At least,¡± he said, ¡°if they had to go at all, they got to go together. Most couples hope for that kind of¡­ ending.¡±


    Windston didn¡¯t know what to say to that.


    ¡°As for what else happened¡­ heroics aside, I''m just gonna be frank with you. You¡¯re lucky your inheritance just about covers the damages. Sign here.¡±


    Windston didn''t know what Bo meant, and when Bo handed him a form to sign, he didn¡¯t realize he¡¯d signed his life away.


    ¡°As for the thing you call your sword,¡± Bo said, folding and then pocketing the form. ¡°Well, if I could so much as touch it, I¡¯d take it on rounds, see what I could get for it. But I can''t, so it''s just gonna have to sit put while I inquire.¡±


    ¡°Can''t I just have it back?¡± Windston asked.


    ¡°No,¡± Bo said, ¡°and I''ll tell you why.¡±


    But he didn''t, and as Windston sat there waiting, he wondered if stealing it back would really be so bad. It was his, after all.


    ¡°You grossly misused it.¡± Satisfied with the delayed blurt, the mayor smiled at Windston and took another drink, this time from a smaller bottle from the desk drawer. ¡°You meant well. No one doubts that,¡± he lied, his eyes tracking for a an instant toward the drawer of letters that proved otherwise. ¡°But you¡­ you really kind of,¡± he said, first shrugging, and then imitating what he remembered of the fateful swing.


    Windston remembered the moment as if it were happening. How he heard a noise, thought it was a drakul, and simply¡­ swung.


    He had rehearsed an explanation with King Frank just earlier in the morning. Frank had told him he¡¯d need to have something ready in case Bo brought it up. But he forgot his lines. Instead, he said, ¡°She was already dead. I mean, she was gonna be dead ¨C I swear. She was still screaming but she was dying. That drakul that tossed her¡­ it pretty much bit her in half. I just¡­¡± Gulp. ¡°¡­finished her off. I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± Bo said, raising a hand of protest to shush him. ¡°And the porches you plowed through were likely infested with termites, the flattened tables weak at the knees. I¡¯ve been explaining the reality to folks all about it these past days. But you know what?¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    Another shrug as Bo averted his gaze to his desktop. Windston looked at it too. It was his father¡¯s, and he loved it. Its top encased a map of the known world. ¡°They don''t care. And they¡¯re simply not willing to try. Which is why we¡­¡± Bo said, groaning as he rose without finishing his sentence; he headed to the chest that had probably always sat in that exact spot at the back of the office. He opened it, its hinges whining, and, after fishing around, said, rising in a groan, ¡°¡­pivot.¡±


    ¡°Pivot,¡± Windston repeated.


    He returned to the desk with a short sword. It was in a wooden scabbard wrapped from hilt to tip with a strip of flaking leather. ¡°This,¡± Bo said, unsheathing the sword halfway down the blade, ¡°was the great hero of Zephyr''s sword.¡± Oily steel flashed blotted and rusty in morning sunlight. ¡°It''s almost perfect, even aged as it is. There''s only just this notch here near the top. You wouldn''t believe me if I told you how it got there. You know them big fat thigh bones near the top of the bigger drakuls¡¯ legs?¡±


    Windston nodded, remembering in an unsettling flashback a bit more than just that.


    ¡°Well,¡± Bo said, seeming to notice Windston¡¯s sudden change in demeanor. ¡°Anyway¡­.¡± He re-sheathed the sword. It clicked into place at the cross guard so that, if shook upside down, the sword would hesitate before slipping out. ¡°King Frank found this out behind my old house a couple years back. It''s a special sword. A very, very special sword.¡±


    Windston already knew about the sword. Frank had told him all about it. He had tried to sell it. Nobody wanted it, and so he gave it to Bo.


    ¡°Now I know you''re probably wondering ''why me and why now?'' The reason is simple: you''ll need a good, safe weapon at your side. That is, if you wanna keep the peace around here.¡±


    ¡°Keep the peace?¡± Windston asked.


    Bo unsheathed the sword in one jerky and graceless motion. ¡°May I?¡± he asked; but he didn¡¯t wait for an answer. He stepped forward and lightly touched Windston''s shoulders with the blade, two taps per side. With his right hand he touched Windston''s petal-ridden mess of blonde hair and said, ¡°I knight thee, Windston Flowers. First and only knight of Zephyr. Captain of the Watch of the Town of Flowers. Rise.¡±


    Windston''s eyes widened. He had dreamed of one day becoming a knight. He¡¯d seen one before, a real knight, all clad in steel armor. He was on Rat Road, Old Rat Road. Someone said he¡¯d been commissioned to kill a hag. But Windston wasn¡¯t sure.


    Bo Beeman handed him the junky sword.


    ¡°As mayor, I give you my word that we will provide you with the necessities required to guard our township and her people. We will provide shelter. We will provide food. All we ask in return is that you courageously defend us.¡± He said this in a tone very different from his usual manner of speaking, without the typical twang of his thick Zephyrian accent.


    ¡°Do you promise to provide safety to the weak?¡± he asked Windston.


    Windston nodded.


    ¡°Will you destroy our enemies and arrest our threats?¡±


    Windston nodded.


    ¡°Will you keep watch over us in our waking? During our sleep?¡±


    Windston nodded.


    ¡°Then arise once again, a new man and a knight.¡±


    Windston rose and Bo, who stood as straight as he could, solemnly turned and all but marched around to the other side of his desk. He plopped down in his chair. There, he had another drink.


    Windston sat too, stifling gasps. He forgot all about his sword for the moment.


    He would live up to Bo''s expectations; he would protect his realm.


    But that it''d be boring, tedious, lonely, lackluster, rainy and gusty, at times cold, other times hot, and always with an infestation of bees to tickle the pollen-covered arms and cheeks, he was not aware. That''s exactly how it was as the lonely knight of the town of flowers.


    Bo had promised him a fort. He said he''d have it built just off Rat Road, Old Rat Road, east of Zephyr. What Windston got instead was three boards and some nails. And his father''s old bear skin rug, although he couldn''t figure out why. The skin cast little shade when hung up. It got pretty dirty on the floor.


    Bo had instructed him to ride the trails that encircled town twice daily, once in the morning, and once in the afternoon. But he had given him no horse, leaving Windston little choice but to run.


    He was promised food for every meal, and a supply of fresh clothing every season so that he might appear honorable to his foes. He received only bundles of jerky and jars of bee byproduct bi-weekly. That and simple plain white cotton clothes to wear beneath rusting ring mail.


    His hair grew shaggy, his clothes were all ripped and stained. And Bo¡¯s sword, which by now was all bent up and even rustier, was left forgotten and dangling somewhere.


    He was haggardly, rough, and bored to the point of near insanity at times. Worse: he had even gotten the idea that maybe, just maybe, the knighting wasn¡¯t a legitimate knighting at all. It was just something Bo did to kindly keep him no less than five miles from the center of town.


    That thought was best left pushed aside.


    The easiest way to ignore harsh reality was to simply walk around and daydream. He imagined significant things that were not there. He intently focused on the small things that were. Flowers, for instance, of all shapes, sizes and colors bedazzled the vast expanse of forest surrounding Zephyr. Their petals could be traced in the breeze as they found unique paths. Deep inside the deepest of bulbs lived individual ants with each their own purpose. Raindrops soaked into logs that, over time, split, rotted from the excess moisture. Those splits became caverns for ants and termites. The way the mud smelled just after the rain, how it was just like how it smelled if you dug at dry dirt with a stick. The sheer size of the mountains to the west, or the pink color on the rocky brown cliffs to the east some mornings when the sun rose.


    There were things one could focus on, could do each and every day, to make the time pass. Windston had become good at each, and even fond of most. But despite his new introverted hobbies, his passion was still running and jumping. His second favorite was swinging from branch to branch.


    There were dozens of paths through the thick bushy growth all around Zephyr, and deeper into The Garden. But now there were hundreds. Windston cut paths that began on the ground and ended up in the trees. He walked tunnels through hollowed fallen logs. He found a stairway up the massive spine and skull of some ancient horned creature. Its bones had become petrified rock. He had found more than a dozen waterfalls, and twice as many caves. He had even found tiny stones that looked like colored glass that, once all dug up, were more of boulders. When touched in the right places, they lit with a light from within, rang out in rich tones.


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    He had just found a turquoise stone when he heard a shriek like he hadn''t heard since the attack on Zephyr. It was at least a mile away, maybe further. Others echoed it.


    Feathered drakuls.


    He scrambled to his feet, leaped to the nearest tree and slung around its trunk. He kicked off with both feet, launched himself skyward above the trees. White flowers scattered in an explosive burst as he shot through a puffy bough on his way down. Its branches buckled beneath his weight. On a thicker branch, he sprung. On a higher limb, he twirled. After another sprint, he flew into the air again.


    Within moments, despite cliffs and hills to climb, leafy sinkholes to avoid, and a generally difficult course to navigate, one straggler at the tail of the pack was not so far ahead.


    It was a big one, nearly ten feet tall and running at a full sprint. He moved ahead and realized they seemed to be chasing after one thing. It must have been airborne; they each, one by one, leapt up into the air, flapping their stubby wings. They soared up and over trees only to glide back down again, empty-beaked. That told Windston one thing: the thing they chased was fast.


    Windston was behind the pack, at least thirty paces back. In leaps, he strained for a better look at what they chased. He heard it before he saw it as a pop, pop, pop!


    Smoke rose and dirt showered him. Over fresh craters he passed, the air was hot and humid. Misting blood settled and feathers blew about, blood blotting and staining nearby trees, which themselves were splintered and smoldering.


    In the commotion, Windston lost the trail. When more pops sounded, this time louder and accompanied by flashes of bright white light, he shifted his chase and picked up his pace. For a while he headed this way, catching glimpses of something soaring overhead. A closer look revealed that it was a winged person gliding over the trees. As he wasn¡¯t quite close enough, he couldn¡¯t be sure; but he thought maybe the person was blue. There was no mistaking the wings. They were sheets of luminous blue energy flaps. Bright but translucent. Attached from just beneath the wrists to the hips, and all along the way.


    Whatever the being was, it sailed as sure of itself as a bird. It dodged limbs and branches, swooped up and dived low, and even twisted backward to lie flat against the wind to hurl down balls of light from the palms of its hands. Windston found himself passing through flaming feathers, sizzling blood, and rising plumes of smoke filled with dirt, splinters and bone shards. This thing, whatever it was, was dangerous, more dangerous than any feathered drakul. It was perhaps more dangerous even than himself.


    Realizing this, Windston clung to a trunk for a moment to think. Several dire scenarios ending with his disfiguring, or worse, played out in his head. But he shook them off; as perimeter knight, he had only one choice. He made up his mind to arrest the monster.


    Being that the creature was surrounded on all sides now, it didn''t take long to catch back up. But it wasn''t much longer before the thing caught a glimpse of him too. It hadn''t been going its fastest ¨C that became apparent rather quickly ¨C and it was in no mood to make friends. As it darted west, Windston found himself dodging bright blasts among the kicks, dives and bites of what was an actual horde of feathered drakuls. One was at least twelve feet tall. Though it couldn¡¯t leap as high as the others, it made up for it by trampling smaller trees lesser drakuls were forced to dodge. It plowed through a sapling oak in a flurry of acorns, beak wide, intent on gobbling Windston¡¯s face. It narrowly missed.


    In the clearing of a small glade he passed through as he chased, Windston saw, as the creature dipped low before swooping back upward, that the creature wasn''t a creature at all, but a boy, and not much older than Windston. He was dressed all in white, blue as the sky if not a little darker, and with hair as richly blue as the depths of Zephyr lake.


    He passed directly overhead again in another low swoop. Apparently, the swooping was necessary, as he did it again, and again, and again.


    Windston took note. When the moment arose, he leapt to the top of a tall pine, kicked off its trunk and came crashing down on the blue boy arms and legs splayed.


    They plummeted, Windston squeezing tight with all four limbs, the blue boy flailing in a panic, shooting blast after blast after blast.


    They landed with a rolling, sliding thud on a hard surface of rock beside a brook. The winged boy coughed and gasped and tumbled helplessly while Windston scrambled to his feet, turned and, still sliding backward, attempted to run after him.


    He finally stopped sliding and dashed toward the boy, snatched him back just before a massive drakul would have clamped its beak shut around his head with a deep, wet thud.


    Before he could flee, the same bird ripped open its beak again, the sharp, hooked barbs that ringed it twanging like plucked strings before it snapped its beak shut again, this time a mere inch from the blue boy''s foot.


    Windston found himself in a four second dance of dodges from the drakul''s frenzied chomps until, without a hint of warning, a massive white ball exploded between himself and the bird.


    He tumbled backward and dropped the boy, half-blind, half-deaf and in a stupor. A steady whistling in his ear drowned out most other noises, though he could hear a few shrieks as dirt spattered from all directions.


    It appeared the birds didn''t want anything to do with Windston, but instead wanted desperately to eat the blue boy where he stood. They couldn''t get anywhere near him. His face was twisted from the heat of his own blast, and his shirt was singed and dangling; but he rained hellfire on the birds without slowing, laughing maniacally, swearing and spitting, a sweaty, matted madman.


    There were so many. Two from one side, three from the other. One had leaped up to gouge his eyes with its claws. Another bit through its neighbor, pausing only briefly to choke down what was a wing, feathers in its teeth when it returned to frenzy, its neighbor bleeding but raging too.


    He was fast, and his aim was good. Drakuls popped like popcorn all around him, bursting into bloody feathers and bones and limbs that sizzled as they crashed and burned.


    The number of flashes per second, along with the sickening smell of the dead birds, nearly made Windston throw up; but he kept his composure and, at what seemed the perfect moment, leaped knee-first toward the boy''s head.


    He missed, his knee stopping with a thud against the bone of a drakul¡¯s eye socket. There was a crunch as its head caved in, and then they both fell together.


    When he stood, it was just in time to catch a nod from the blue boy as he leaped, flipped, and landed midair in a glide that carried him north in what seemed like the same instant.


    He fully came to his senses and realized everything he thought just happened had. Now he was alone in a burning ring of fire, boiling blood and burnt feathers.


    Detached monster heads still snapped at him, snarling, as he hobbled past. The dust settled and there were no living monsters to be seen, nor were there any nearby flying blue boys. Only butterflies, bees, and a few singing birds flew about in the mess of raining petals and blood.


    His clothes were all but ashes beneath melted ring mail. He stripped the mail, peeling it from his skin at points of impact, and limped off down toward a nearby trail, though not because of any pain; the metal rings had melted together from the skin on his quad to the skin on his calf, limiting his range of motion


    Being half naked alone in the middle of the woods isn''t the absolute worst thing that can happen to someone impervious to bites, stings and pricks. But it is a problem.


    He took the most private route he knew of back home, to his little abode in the trees, and dropped off what was left of his mail. At the nearest brook, which wasn''t far, he lay down and rolled to rinse the mud and blood.


    Back home, he dressed in his finest ¨C stained shorts and a T-shirt ¨C fastened his rusty sword to his belt and headed toward Zephyr for the first time in weeks.


    Zephyr wasn''t his favorite place to visit anymore. He didn''t want to be there any more than anyone wanted him there. But he had to report to Bo; he had to let him know that there was someone nearby that could blow up the whole town and everyone in it in less than a minute.


    He got to the eastern edge of town but stopped before going any further because he''d heard a very distinct whistle. It was Frank''s whistle, and Frank had blown it.


    Windston spotted him on the thick end of a pine branch close to the trunk, about halfway up the tree. He was wrapped in a cape of black, white and gray woodpecker feathers and donning his poke of a red hat made only of the red ones. He wasn''t alone; he was never alone. Woodpeckers perched everywhere, and he bowed to them as they assembled all about.


    ¡°Windston,¡± he said with a smile, still bowing.


    ¡°Frank,¡± Windston said. ¡°Long time no see.¡±


    ¡°Too long,¡± Frank agreed. ¡°But I have kept watch over you with the eyes of my friends.¡±


    ¡°I''ve noticed,¡± Windston said.


    ¡°I tried sending for you earlier,¡± said Frank, meeting Windston''s eyes with his own beady black ones and hobbling toward him in a very bird-like fashion. ¡°Mayor Bo says the town has come into a bit of trouble in the form of a thief. Just in time to jeopardize the squat dance.¡±


    ¡°Really,¡± Windston said, releasing his grip on the branch and falling onto another more level with Frank''s. ¡°I forgot about the squat dance. When is it?¡±


    ¡°Tonight,¡± Frank said, his beak-like nose seeming to reach out toward Windston as he stressed the word. ¡°And listen; don''t dismiss this thief. He isn''t your average pickpocket. My birds have told me he can fly,¡± he said, grabbing the ends of his cape and flapping it like a bird does wings.


    ¡°Really,¡± Windston said, stroking his chin, pondering. ¡°What does he look like?¡±


    ¡°They say he''s all black with glowing white eyes. That he sneaks,¡± Frank said, hopping off his branch and onto Windston''s, touching his shoulders from behind him. He hopped over him and skipped toward the trunk in a teetering, tottering balancing act. At the trunk, he turned quickly and knelt like Windston, only he was covered in birds. ¡°That''s why they call him the black monster.¡± He chuckled a melodious chuckle, one not unlike the call of a woodpecker.


    ¡°The black monster,¡± Windston said, standing, his eyes wide and his fists clinched. ¡°I bet he''s one and the same as the blue one I just met,¡± he said.


    ¡°A blue monster?¡± Frank asked.


    ¡°Yes!¡± Windston said, suddenly standing straight, his hands on his hips. ¡°The little jerk that almost blew me up an hour ago!¡±


    ¡°Someone blew you up?¡± Frank asked. He had reached into his cape and came back with a pipe. He stuffed its bowl with feathers and lit it with his imagination.


    ¡°Almost,¡± Windston said. ¡°I don''t know if it was meant for me or not, but he shot some magic, and it almost blew me up. I was practically butt naked because he burned my clothes. My armor melted into my skin,¡± he said, pointing at his butt. ¡°Didn''t hurt, though.¡±


    ¡°Naked,¡± Frank said, but he didn''t seem to be paying much attention anymore. He was, of course, covered in honey. Bees that had found their way onto his arms earlier had become stuck and he was trying to help them free themselves with gentle nudges and shakes.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Windston said. ¡°Practically. But I''m not anymore. Now I''m just pissed.¡±


    ¡°Hmm,¡± Frank said, focused on his pipe again. A few feathers had shot upward but he sucked them back down and was inhaling them into his nose, only they couldn''t fit past his nostrils. ¡°Well,¡± he said, ¡°I don''t know anything about that. But I do know that I was sent to fetch you. I was about to try to fly again, only I''m not sure if I''m ready.¡±


    Windston shrugged. ¡°You''ll fly when you''re ready.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Frank said. ¡°I believe so. But it is not today. Today,¡± he said, taking another puff off his pipe. ¡°I''ve come to find a need to warn you about Mayor Bo Beeman.¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah? What about?¡±


    ¡°He has been keeping strange company of late. There are strangers in town. A whole camp. One very old man who calls himself a scientist and no less than fifty very peculiar individuals that I suspect are soldiers are with him. They claim they hail all the way from Galsia, if you can believe it. They came here so far, and yet there are no horses, nor are there carriages. It appears as though they walked.¡±


    Windston nodded, his eyebrows lowered, although he had no idea what or where was Galsia. ¡°That''s weird.¡±


    ¡°It is,¡± Frank agreed. ¡°I wonder why they''re here. For what, or for whom?¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Windston said, ¡°I don''t know. Maybe they''re here for the squat dance.¡±


    Frank didn''t say anything, he just continued smoking his pipe. Finally, he said, ¡°Everyone likes a good squat dance, I suppose. Although I don''t know if it''s worth it to travel more than a thousand miles to get to one.¡±


    ¡°A thousand miles?¡±


    ¡°More than that,¡± Frank said. ¡°Much more.¡±


    ¡°Whoa!¡±


    Frank nodded. ¡°You''ve probably traveled little more in your entire life. And yet you run constantly.¡±


    ¡°I do. And I jump too.¡±


    Frank nodded. ¡°Those facts, I think, are partially why these men have come. Those facts, and the fact of your sword.¡±


    Windston¡¯s eyebrows fell flush with the tops of his eyes as he squinted, thinking. ¡°What fact is that?¡±


    ¡°It is a very special relic, I''m afraid. At least, that''s my belief.¡±


    ¡°What''s a relic?¡± he asked.


    Frank cocked his head, staring at his pipe, as he¡¯d been mid-puff when Windston asked. ¡°I believe your sword must be a historical artifact. And it''s possible many people many places might want to have it.¡±


    ¡°I don''t know,¡± Windston said. ¡°To me...¡± He paused, sighed. ¡°It''s just my sword.¡±


    ¡°Yes. But it''s more of Bo Beeman''s now. And even then, it''s being claimed by a man from Galsia.¡±


    ¡°What? Who?!¡± Windston demanded.


    ¡°But even that is happenstance,¡± said Frank, ¡°neither here nor there compared to something I really must tell you now.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You know how I''m... different,¡± Frank said, softer at the word different.


    ¡°What? No. No you''re not,¡± Windston said, but it was clear Frank was very different.


    ¡°Special, even. Some might say so if they''re being kind.¡±


    ¡°Only in good ways.¡±


    ¡°This thing that I might tell you¡­ I fear maybe I shouldn''t tell you. I fear that, if I do, even you might think I''ve lost it.¡±


    ¡°Lost what?¡±


    ¡°Do you believe in the significance of dreams?¡±


    ¡°Um... yeah,¡± Windston said, although he didn''t know what he meant.


    ¡°Fine. Humor me, if you will.¡±


    ¡°I will,¡± Windston said.


    ¡°I have had the same dream for nearly a month. It drives me mad. I awake from it cold. I awake from it sleepy. I awake from it with eyes that are dry despite that I''d been crying.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    ¡°Look,¡± Frank said, holding his eyelids wide to reveal bloodshot eyes. ¡°Veins,¡± he said. ¡°Bags,¡± he said. ¡°I''m not getting any solid rest anymore.¡±


    ¡°That stinks.¡±


    ¡°It gets worse. The dreams are about these¡­ things. Horrible, terrifying things.¡±


    ¡°Oh, no.¡±


    ¡°Worms. Faceless men. And always, always...¡± He stopped and dropped his head. ¡°A red star.¡±


    ¡°That''s weird. I''ve never seen a red one.¡±


    ¡°Whether you''re in it fighting demons until they die or being killed by a hooded man with a thumbprint for a face, you''re always in my dreams, Windston.¡±


    ¡°Me?¡±


    ¡°And at the end, whether I''m relieved or in regret, I look up, and there it is. One. Red. Star.¡±


    ¡°Weird.¡±


    ¡°But that''s not all. This morning, I was off north further than I usually travel. I was troubled and so I walked. I fell asleep just past midnight, in a tree I haven''t slept in for years. It''s along a trail north of Rat Road, Old Rat Road. It''s an old merchant trail that now only the southern and northern towns use. It''s a bit of a shortcut, and a dangerous one at that.¡±


    ¡°I think I know which one.¡±


    ¡°I fell asleep and had that dream. A man with a swirl for a face like a thumbprint¡­ he was creeping by, hunched over and small. He was carrying in his arms a worm; it leaked coal black smoke from its mouth, trailed black powdery excrement from its bottom.¡±


    ¡°That''s disgusting.¡±


    ¡°It was. I was sickened. I vomited, and the man without a face stopped and peered my way. The worm wiggled and tossed, and he steadied it with a muffled command and raise of his hand. He raised his hand toward me, and I lost control of myself. The view panned up, and I stared transfixed at the red star from my nightmares. When I awoke, I was still staring. To my horror, the star was still there. So was the vomit, and so was the trail of vile excrement. I vomited more, and nearly fell to the forest floor.¡±


    ¡°Wow.¡±


    ¡°I ran away as quickly as I could. Halfway back, I passed out. My birds filled me in on the rest. It was real. It wasn''t a dream.¡±


    ¡°No way.¡±


    ¡°Windston, if you ever see this man, kill him!¡±


    ¡°What? What man? Where?¡±


    ¡°The man with a swirl for a face. He has been in every dream. In every dream that you do not kill him first, he kills you.¡±


    ¡°Darn!¡±


    ¡°Darn is right!¡± Frank said, panting.


    Windston panted as well. The story had him very worked up, what little of it he understood, anyway.


    When they simmered down, Frank said. ¡°I hope it was just a dream. Maybe I''m going mad. I did sample mushrooms that I maybe should have left alone. Only, I''ve had them before and they were fine.¡±


    Windston shrugged. ¡°You love mushrooms.¡±


    ¡°There is one way to confirm or deny these dreams as true premonitions. Can you do me one last favor?¡±


    ¡°Last? I can do you a million favors.¡±


    ¡°Climb up this very tree and look in the sky for me.¡±


    ¡°This tree? Right now?¡±


    Frank nodded. ¡°Please. Right now.¡±


    ¡°No problem,¡± Windston said. With a leap, he was at the top of the tree, which swayed first this way, and then that.


    At first, he saw nothing. But then, there, between the smallest and the largest of the three moons, was a dot like a star shining brightly despite the time. It was bright red against the pale blue of the sky. It was a red star.


    Immediately, Windston shuttered. He shuttered, and even quaked. He couldn''t explain it, not even to himself, but he immediately got the feeling, as he stared at that odd red star, that it noticed him and stared back.


    Slowly, he dropped back down until he was on the branch with King Frank.


    Frank was smoking and his hands were shaky. ¡°You saw it, then,¡± he asked as a statement, nodding. ¡°Your pale face says it all.¡±


    Windston nodded. ¡°I did. It''s weird.¡±


    ¡°Then it''s probably true. We will never see one another again.¡±


    ¡°Don''t even say that, Frank. We''re best friends. Best-best-best friends. Forever.¡±


    ¡°But you''re going away. And I''m staying here.¡±


    ¡°Says who? I''m not going anywhere, even though I hate it here.¡±


    ¡°Fate, I think, will make you go.¡±


    ¡°Who''s that?¡±


    ¡°Either way.... What happens happens. Just promise me this: be careful. And always do what''s right.¡±


    ¡°I will,¡± Windston said, nodding.


    ¡°Good. That''s all I ask.¡±


    ¡°Good. That''s all I do.¡±


    Frank chuckled. ¡°You really are a good kid. Zephyr is crazy for thinking otherwise.¡±


    ¡°And you really are a cool guy. They''re just super stupid and I hate them.¡±


    ¡°Goodbye then, Windston.¡±


    ¡°What, right now?¡±


    Frank nodded and took a puff off his pipe. He was huddled up on the branch against the trunk. ¡°I''ve taken up enough of your time. Bo wants to speak with you.¡±


    ¡°Psh, Bo,¡± Windston sighed, shaking his head. ¡°Fine, I''ll go. For now, Frank. Only for right now.¡± But it was weird. As he said that to Frank, he averted his gaze. It was as if he felt like he was lying.

 Two: Frem

    In town, Windston hopped from rooftop to rooftop when he could, jogged when he couldn''t. This was, of course, to the distaste of most Zephyrians he passed, who were all dressed or almost there, hanging ribbons and tassels and otherwise making merry. He ignored them or tried to. One of them gave him the finger. Her young mother did, too.


    Town became more saturated the further in it he went. By the time he got to the circle, he found himself wading through crowds gathered around booths of sweets, home brewed ales and other goodies. A deep-fried pastry stand caught his attention. But he had no money. The chocolates looked good too. And the smoked brisket.


    At Bo''s, he hopped over one final crowd and landed square on the stone pathway leading up from the gate to Bo''s door. There, he saw Bo and others he recognized as people who bothered his father when he was alive and mayor. Actually, Bo used to be one of them.


    Bo saw him and raised his eyebrows and his glass before beckoning him over.


    ¡°There he is,¡± he said. ¡°Where is that... professor?¡±


    ¡°Here I am! Here I am!¡± a very small man in a three-piece suit exclaimed. He had been inside Bo''s house and was pushing his way out through a crowd of more dignitaries and business owners inside. ¡°Excuse me!¡± he said. Excuse me! Excuse!¡±


    He was a little shorter than Windston, who himself stood just barely more than five and a half feet high. But he was round and moved with a graceless waddle. He had thick spectacles that hung low from a chain around his neck, and a very sparse comb of white and blonde hairs that crossed from one side of his rather large head to the other. Curiously, he tried to keep one hand over the other ¨C the right over the left. It was to hide his thumb. Or, really, that he was missing one, and had lost it only recently.


    ¡°Ah,¡± he said, bending forward from the top of the edge of the porch beside Bo, smiling at Windston. ¡°Is this the specimen at last?¡±


    ¡°This is Windston. Windston, this is Professor Wignof. He''s come all the way from Galsia to see you. Made it just in time for the dance.¡±


    ¡°Professor Vignof,¡± the professor said as he hobbled down the steps to grasp Windston''s hand in both of his. He was smiling up at Windston in a way that made him look very hungry. His cheeks were flushed, his forehead perspired, and his tongue was slightly extended from his mouth and pulled back so that it pressed flush against his upper lip.


    Windston looked past him at Bo. ¡°Bo Beeman! Mayor Bo! I''ve come to tell you about a possible monster boy!¡±


    The chattering nearby quieted. The professor seemed unfazed; he looked Windston up and down more than once, and even reached out to squeeze his upper arm, which Windston promptly withdrew with a scowl.


    ¡°There is a boy. A blue boy!¡± Windston shouted. ¡°And he could blow up this whole town!¡±


    ¡°Windston!¡± Bo yelled.


    Windston stopped and blinked, withdrew his arm from the professor again and shoved him lightly on the shoulder. ¡°Quit it,¡± he warned.


    ¡°Keep it down,¡± Bo said, smiling, but wide-eyed. He cocked his head and nodded, his eyes brushing over nearby company. ¡°We''re having a good time today. Okay? And although I think I know what you''re getting at, I''m afraid you might be... ill informed.¡±


    ¡°What does that mean?¡± Windston asked.


    ¡°It means you don¡¯t know what you''re talking about. Now...¡± He stepped off the porch and touched Windston''s shoulder. ¡°There are some very comfortable clothes inside. They''re in your old bedroom, laid out on the bed in there. I want you to go try them on and come back down to see me. There''s a lot I want to talk with you about. But later. For now... I want you to have a good time. Enjoy yourself.¡±


    Windston''s eyes narrowed all on their own. They briefly met Wignof¡¯s too before landing on Bo and what he was wearing. He wore a very frilly green shirt that looked like velvet. His shorts matched and had frills above the knees as well. His socks were white and covered his knees. His shoes were black with brass buckles. ¡°You do?¡±


    Bo nodded and patted Windston on the back. He even scratched it, right on an itchy spot between the shoulders, which sent chills down his whole body.


    ¡°Okay,¡± Windston said, taking a step backward from Bo, and even ducking under his arm to get away. ¡°I''ll go get the clothes.¡±


    Bo nodded. ¡°Thank you, Windston. Really, thank you. I don''t think we''ve thanked you around here enough.¡± He winked at him.


    ¡°You haven''t,¡± Windston said, brushing away the spot of beer that fell from Bo''s cup to his arm. ¡°But you''re welcome anyway. It was... nothing.¡±


    Wignof chuckled but Windston wasn''t kidding, and he let him know with a flashing glare.


    Up the porch steps with a single bound, he pushed his way inside without so much as an excuse me. Inside, he skipped up the stairs and barged into his old room, immediately scowling at the changes. Where the walls had been painted a tan beige to contrast the thick beams on the walls and ceilings, the paint was blue here, pink there, and yellow there with a sunrise over water and clouds painted on each. The bed was very large, too, taking up most of the room. And on it, wagging his tail when he saw him, was Doobear, Bo''s creepy little dog. He was short and tan and bug-eyed with a curled tail and a smushed black face.


    Windston petted him before ripping off his shirt. There was a mirror on the wall behind him and he took a second to look at his back muscles, which were etched and defined. What drew his attention, though, was soot and a bit of crusty blood he''d missed when he bathed.


    Dressed, he took a glance at what was an oddly unfamiliar face. His nose was bigger, and his cheekbones were broader, as was his jaw, than the last time he saw a mirror. His eyes were still blue, something he never thought much about, but his hair, which had always been a very bright shade of yellow, was more like hay in color, all messed up, matted with blood on one side, and in desperate need of a combing. His eyebrows, which had hardly been apparent in childhood, were coming in darker now, and thicker, and shapely, but he didn''t know what to make of it.


    There wasn''t a comb anywhere, so he used his fingers.


    Downstairs... he felt like an idiot. Women stared, and men, who wore frilly clothes themselves, raised their eyebrows at him as if to say, ¡°Well, there''s a pig in a suit.¡±


    Windston ignored them the best he could, but he wasn''t very good at it. He ended up scowling back at one that just wouldn''t stop staring, and leaned forward, teeth grit, until the man looked away.


    ¡°Oh, my goodness,¡± Bo said when Windston walked out. ¡°We match!¡±


    Unfortunately, it was true. They did match.


    ¡°Hold on,¡± Bo said. ¡°One minute. I''ll be right back.¡±


    He headed up the porch and inside in a mock run.


    Windston watched but stopped when he noticed someone was stroking his head. It was that little professor. He swatted him away, this time hard enough to twist the little man''s face.


    Bo came back wearing a wig with one in his hands. Wignof clapped and smiled, and the others looked on in utter disbelief as Bo set it atop Windston''s head.


    ¡°Wow,¡± was all Windston could manage.


    ¡°We''re twins tonight,¡± Bo laughed. It was clear that he was drunk. A woman with a tray of glasses walked by and Bo took one for him, one for Windston, and handed Windston his. ¡°Enjoy,¡± he said. ¡°And take this. This is a handful of brass coins, just for you,¡± he said, reaching into his pocket and coming back with a small sack fastened with a pull string of gold tinsel.


    ¡°What''s this for?¡± Windston asked, looking at the sack and handing off the beer.


    ¡°Get yourself some barbecue,¡± Bo said. ¡°Or some donuts.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± Windston said. ¡°I guess I will.¡±


    He left to do just that.


    Slowly, cautiously, he moved away from Bo''s yard and through the gate and out into the crowd, suspicious someone somewhere was gonna come out with a big horn and blow it so that confetti would explode for the dunces and jesters to have something festive to jump out in as they surrounded him, pointing and laughing.


    None of that happened. But he did get awful glances from the few who still recognized him despite the attire.


    The BBQ was good, though. And the donuts. And the chocolates. And the chocolate drinks. He finished his engorging session with a spread of Bo''s own Beeman honey-syrple on a bun, which was, frankly, the highlight of it all.


    After a bit of moseying and more impulse buys, Windston shrunk away from the crowds in town and found himself back at the old stump he used to hang around sometimes behind the mayoral mansion, near the water. There, he played with a knight toy he''d bought and flew around the stuffed dragon it came with for two pence more.


    That was when he noticed him. The blue boy.


    Well, first he noticed the rock. It skipped out, way out, bounding from one sprawling ripple to the next as it flew over and into the lake. Then he noticed the boy. He was changed into different clothes, an off-white set of hooded tunic and shorts, brown boots, blue tights and a very fancy buckled belt. He glanced at Windston and tossed another stone. He glanced at him again and tossed another. They skipped marvelously, each to about the same spot every time.


    Windston stood from his place on the stump and headed that way. He felt a surge of adrenaline, and his breathing quickened. But he also felt curious, and bored, and the boy seemed to be smiling at him.


    He was smiling at him. His eyes, which were slightly different than most, narrower and hooded, smiled too. He stopped and looked for more smooth stones, which lay about in abundance, grabbed a handful and tossed one underhand to Windston.


    ¡°What are you doing here?¡± Windston asked.


    The boy smiled bigger, showing white teeth and fangs, and skipped another rock. ¡°What does it look like?¡± he asked.


    Windston put his hands on his hips and watched the rock whiz off. ¡°Skipping rocks,¡± he said.


    The boy nodded. ¡°Exactly.¡±


    ¡°I can do that,¡± Windston said. But the truth was he wasn''t very good. He proved it.


    ¡°Nice,¡± the blue boy said anyway, tossing Windston another rock. ¡°Try it like this next time,¡± he said, demonstrating a slowed display of beautiful skipping form.


    Windston dropped the rock and crossed his arms. ¡°Maybe later.¡±


    The boy straightened and tossed one of his rocks up and down before dropping the others and turning his back to Windston to pace slowly in circles.


    ¡°What are you doing here?¡± Windston asked again. ¡°Here to blow up the whole town?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± the boy said. ¡°Although I could,¡± he warned, pointing at him.


    Windston crouched, ready to fight. ¡°Not if I can help it.¡±


    ¡°Why are you wearing that?¡± blue boy asked.


    ¡°Because. I don''t know.¡±


    ¡°Are you rich?¡±


    Windston relaxed, shook his head. ¡°I never dress like this. The mayor made me do it.¡±


    ¡°Mayor Bo,¡± the boy said. ¡°Bo Beeman.¡±


    ¡°How do you know his name?¡±


    ¡°Because I read his mail.¡±


    Windston laughed. ¡°You do?¡±


    ¡°I sneak over late at night. His mailbox is right by the road. I walk over, take some letters and read them. Then I stick them back in or throw them away.¡±


    Windston shook his head. ¡°I bet you steal food too.¡±


    The boy shrugged. ¡°Beats starving.¡±


    ¡°That''s a bad crime,¡± Windston said. ¡°I could arrest you for that.¡±


    ¡°But you won''t.¡±


    Windston paused, staring at the boy, and then turned and paced himself before kneeling down and grabbing a stick to prod at wet sand. ¡°I won''t because... I hate Bo Beeman, and... I hate everyone in Zephyr.¡±


    The boy laughed.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°He hates you too. They all hate you.¡±


    Windston shrugged. ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°How do you know?¡±


    ¡°I can tell,¡± Windston said. ¡°They leave me outside to rot like a dog. Only they treat their dogs better. I wonder why he gave me all this money, and these clothes, and this stupid hat.¡±


    ¡°Wig,¡± the boy corrected. ¡°He''s trying to butter you up.¡±


    ¡°I don''t know what that means.¡± Windston pulled out the sack. It was still half full of brass coins. ¡°Check it out.¡±


    ¡°Whoa. Can I have?¡± the boy asked. ¡°Spare change for a hungry old soul?¡±


    Windston shrugged and handed him the bag. ¡°Take it. I don''t want it anymore.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°I don''t want it,¡± Windston said, arms crossed.


    ¡°Good ¨C I¡¯ll take it. But I can''t spend it on anything.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯d run me off.¡± There was a brief pause, one during which the boy skipped a rock while Windston dug into the dirt with that stick.


    The blue boy suddenly wheeled and faced Windston. ¡°Hey, maybe you could buy me something.¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡± Windston asked.


    The boy shrugged. ¡°Food.¡±


    ¡°There''s tons of food around the circle,¡± Windston said. ¡°But you have to wait in a long line.¡±


    ¡°Could you do that? I''d do it but they''d probably throw rocks at me because I''m blue.¡± He chuckled.


    Windston shrugged. ¡°Maybe.¡±


    ¡°I''ll do something really nice for you if you do,¡± the boy said.


    ¡°Like what?¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± the boy said. He stroked his chin and stared out over the water, at the sun, which was just about ready to set. ¡°I could kill Bo Beeman for you. Blow him up into a million pieces.¡±


    Windston straightened at that, but he relaxed when he saw the boy was smiling.


    ¡°Or,¡± he said, ¡°I could... no. I couldn''t tell you that. You''d probably tell everyone.¡±


    ¡°Tell everyone what?¡± Windston asked.


    ¡°Nothing. Just this secret I know.¡±


    ¡°What kind of secret?¡± Windston asked.


    ¡°The secret kind.¡±


    Windston stood up and adjusted his wig. ¡°I can keep secrets,¡± he said.


    ¡°Prove it,¡± the boy demanded, pointing at him.


    ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°Quick. Tell me a secret you know,¡± he said, still pointing. ¡°That way I''ll know you''ve been keeping one.¡±


    ¡°Um,¡± Windston said, trying to think. Then he stopped. ¡°No. I won''t tell you any secrets because I don''t tell secrets.¡±


    ¡°Wow,¡± the boy said. ¡°I can¡¯t believe it; you passed the test. Fine. I''ll tell you the first secret. But only if you bring me whatever it is they¡¯re cooking over there that smells so good.¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡± Windston asked. ¡°They¡¯re cooking a lot of stuff.¡±


    ¡°Like... meat ¨C I don''t know. I smell meat. And bread. And potatoes.¡±


    Windston shrugged. ¡°There¡¯s more than that there.¡±


    ¡°Sweets?¡±


    ¡°Chocolates. Yeah. And other stuff.¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± the boy said, pointing at Windston. ¡°And cakes.¡±


    ¡°And doughnuts.¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± the boy said. He hopped up and down and clenched his fists. ¡°Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!¡±


    ¡°You want all that?¡± Windston asked.


    ¡°Bring them to me, as much as you can, and I¡¯ll tell you my name.¡±


    Windston slumped. ¡°Your name?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. If I tell you my name and you tell me yours, we can be friends. And then I can tell you really juicy secrets.¡±


    Windston narrowed his eyes at the boy and grimaced. ¡°Fine,¡± he finally said. ¡°But I already have a friend. He''s my best friend and his name is Frank.¡±


    ¡°The woodpecker guy?¡±


    Windston didn''t say anything. He just stared at the boy suspiciously.


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°What? I saw you guys. You were talking about me, and then that red star. Which is weird, and I can tell you why. But not yet as it¡¯s part of a secret.¡±


    ¡°You were spying on us?¡± Windston asked, teeth gritted.


    ¡°Can we get back to the food thing?¡± the boy asked, wincing, a hand on his stomach. ¡°I''m starving. Like, really starving to death.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± Windston said. ¡°But don¡¯t freaking spy on me ever again. Or Frank. Got it?¡±


    ¡°Fine, yeah.¡±


    He headed back for Bo''s yard. By the time he got to it and through it, the sun had fully set, a voice shouted yeehaws, yippees and other things through a bullhorn, and the band began to play.


    The squat dance festival had begun. Lines and lines of dancers formed from the circle fountain, where water shot up higher than normal lit by torches in glass cases of red, orange, green, blue and yellow. The band, which was on a makeshift stage over the steps of town hall, strummed and drummed and fiddled and horned. And then the dancers were at it, one line squatting low, the other dancing in a pattern of squatting and dancing and squatting and dancing that would go on this way through the night. Partners exchanged and dancers bowed or curtsied. The festivities were at a peak. But the food stands were not so easy to get to anymore.


    Windston tried jumping over a few lines, but quickly darted off for the opening away from the fountain when it looked like he''d be trampled during an exchange. He tried to move around the dancers, but crowds of onlookers and would-be participants blocked the way.


    Without putting in too much thought, he leaped up onto a nearby oak with low branches and scurried longways across a limb. Twigs and pedals twirled down onto the dancers. His wig got stuck on a stick. People booed and one even splashed a drink upward at him.


    The band missed a beat, but they played on.


    With another leap, he landed where he wanted, only a bit too close. His hip bumped the grill, and he jostled it, spilling beans in the BBQ. Somebody cussed at him ¨C a big fat guy in line ¨C and the cook yelled at him to wait his turn.


    He did.


    He was cautious about getting to the doughnut stand, and even more careful getting to the chocolate. With all the items in hand, he made his way back through the crowd and past Bo''s yard where he found that the boy had moved and was lying down with his back propped up against a boathouse just north down the shoreline.


    He stood, excited, when he saw the plate and baggies. He snatched them from Windston and took a quick seat crisscrossed applesauce with a plop.


    ¡°Frem,¡± he said. ¡°That''s my name. Now don''t wear it out.¡± Pause. ¡°No fork? No spoon? No knife?¡±


    ¡°I''m Windston.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± Frem said before plucking bits of meat with the tips of his claws.


    ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°That''s what the second secret is about.¡±


    ¡°Hey; I thought it would be about the star?¡±


    The kid shook his head. ¡°That''s for even later. That''s if you join my cause. What it said in the letters I read about you is so messed up. These were letters to and from Bo Beeman.¡±


    ¡°About what?¡±


    ¡°I''ll tell you, but only if you....¡±


    ¡°What?!¡± Windston snapped.


    Frem laughed. ¡°I''m so thirsty.¡±


    ¡°Drink your spit,¡± Windston said. ¡°Why didn''t you ask before I left?¡±


    ¡°Hey, that''s a good idea; I would if I had any. Ugh. My mouth is so dry. And I didn''t ask because I needed to save it for another secret.¡±


    Windston crossed his arms. ¡°Do you know how hard it was to get all this? I''m almost out of money.¡±


    ¡°No, I am; you gave me the money ¨C remember?¡± Frem said. ¡°But that¡¯s what I want. So¡­ go get it.¡± He smiled.


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Be a good little boy and get me a beer. Hurry now.¡±


    ¡°A what?¡±


    ¡°A beer!¡± Frem yelled.


    ¡°I''m only fourteen years old!¡± Windston shouted.


    ¡°You''re fourteen? You look more like thirteen, if that.¡± He was scarfing everything down, so his speech was a garbled mess. ¡°I''m fifteen. That makes me your boss.¡±


    ¡°You look twelve and sound like you¡¯re ten,¡± Windston said ¨C and it was true; Frem¡¯s voice hadn¡¯t changed. ¡°And that does not make you my boss. No one is my boss. Nobody nowhere.¡±


    ¡°Come on,¡± Frem said, changing his approach. ¡°I''ve had beer before. I stole a whole keg once, like, two towns back. It was kinda gross, but... I don''t know. It was kinda cool. I drank it all in one long slurp, right out of the tap. I really liked it.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a liar.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± Frem said, rolling his eyes, his mouth full of meat. ¡°Get me a pipe and something to smoke in it, then. But not feathers,¡± he said with a laugh. ¡°And bring me a water while you¡¯re at it.¡±


    ¡°Make fun of Frank again and die!¡± Windston warned.


    ¡°Fine, fine ¨C sorry. But come on, bring me something. Water. Juice. Whatever. Baby bottle milk if it makes you feel better. Whatever you want me to drink.¡±


    ¡°Why do I have to do all this stuff for you just to get you to tell me things? If you were really my friend you¡¯d just tell me.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not true. Friends don¡¯t tell each other everything. Besides, these aren¡¯t just ordinary secrets. These are special secrets kept just for you. Believe me, you want to know my secrets. You do. You really do. But I can''t just give them out for free. They''re valuable. I worked hard getting them.¡±


    ¡°As hard as it would be to get you a beer?¡±


    ¡°No, harder. Do you know how hard it is to sneak up on woodpeckers? Not that hard. But hard.¡±


    Windston laughed. ¡°I''m not getting you beer. But I''ll get you cider. I think I saw apple cider next to the chocolate milk stand.¡±


    ¡°You''d get me beer if we were friends.¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± Windston said. ¡°If. But we''re not.¡±


    Frem looked up at the sky and simply stared, his plate balancing on his knees, his arms drooped to the ground palms-up. ¡°Fine,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you one more real quick. Mayor Bo agreed to send you with some creepy scientist to Galsia; he wants to study you and your sword. Happy now?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Windston asked, wincing.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Frem said, taking another bite. ¡°Pretty messed up. But whatever. One beer, please.¡±


    Windston stood there frozen for a bit, digesting what was a truth he actually found difficult to swallow. His eyes watered a bit, and he turned to leave, and that''s when he saw a slumped silhouette in the darkness between the lake and the town.


    ¡°I thought I''d find you back here,¡± Bo said.


    Windston hurried and looked back over his shoulder, but Frem was gone.


    ¡°Who were you talking to?¡± Bo asked.


    ¡°No one,¡± Windston said. He shook his head, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. ¡°I do that sometimes. I get lonely.¡±


    Bo sighed, looked up at the sky, and briefly winced at the red star before adjusting his glasses. Windston, of course, couldn¡¯t see him do that, but he felt something in the pause. ¡°That''s probably my fault,¡± Bo finally said, his words heavy with remorse. ¡°At any rate, your company is wanted back at my place. You''ve actually been wanted for a while, but we couldn''t find you.¡±


    ¡°Great.¡±


    ¡°I figured you''d go out and get something to eat and come right back.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I hate it there,¡± Windston admitted.


    ¡°That''s okay. No problem. Just... we do need you back, now. We have some very important things to discuss, you and I.¡±


    ¡°Like what,¡± Windston said, though he thought he knew.


    ¡°Like... just do me a favor, Windston. Don¡¯t give me a fuss. Just come with me and find out. Will ya? Isn¡¯t that the easy way?¡±


    ¡°Fine.¡±


    They headed back, Windston behind Bo and checking over his shoulder here and there to make sure Frem, who had crawled back out and was squat dancing in the moonlight, wouldn''t get himself caught by being stupid.


    Back at Bo''s, Windston found that the crowd in the front lawn had gone, probably dispersed into the crowd watching the dancers. Those of the few who did remain at the mayoral mansion were on the porches, mostly the top one, which was a narrow wrap-around balcony one could get to either by clambering out the near floor to ceiling windows of the four front rooms, or heading out the back door from Bo''s mayoral bedroom. Bo and Windston did the latter.


    Two men with droopy blonde spikes for hair were there. They were tall and thin, their faces sullen. They looked like twins. There were others Windston recognized as the richest men in Zephyr, and with them were their wives. There was also the commerce conductor and the head policeman. And then there was Professor Wignof, who was cradling Bo''s dog like a baby and blowing him kiss after kiss after kiss.


    Bo and Windston headed past the others toward the professor and took a seat. The dog squirmed when he saw Windston, but only because his hands still smelled like BBQ.


    ¡°Found him,¡± Bo said, leading Windston forward with an arm around the upper back.


    ¡°Where have you been, my beautiful boy?¡± the professor asked. ¡°I have been longing to speak with you all this time.¡±


    Windston didn''t say anything.


    ¡°Looks like we lost a wig,¡± Bo said, ruffling his hair.


    The professor touched his arm, and Windston shuttered and made his way to the railing, where he leaned his back away from them, to keep them from touching him.


    ¡°We were just enjoying the festivities,¡± Wignof said. ¡°And I am thinking, where is this wonderful boy with the wonderful sword Bo speaks about?¡±


    ¡°My sword?¡± Windston asked.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Wignof said. ¡°Your sword.¡± He had dropped the dog, who sniffed Windston''s empty hands before skittering off and clicking his claws down the stairs. Now his hands were clasped, and he was leaned in, staring at Windston.


    ¡°I think the sword is still downstairs,¡± Windston said.


    ¡°It is,¡± Bo confirmed. ¡°Right there in the closet where you left it.¡±


    ¡°We might have to change this,¡± Wignof said. ¡°Soon. Very soon.¡±


    ¡°Change what?¡± Windston asked.


    ¡°The location of this sword. It seems to me that maybe it is better in your hands. What do you think?¡±


    ¡°I think you''re right,¡± Windston said, and he would''ve smiled if it wasn''t for how creepy the two adults had been acting.


    ¡°Good. Because I have this proposition for you. It feels as though I travel all the way from my humble town in Galsia to ask you. This, of course, is not the case. But it feels like it is. That is how important it is that I am learning of you and this sword.¡±


    Windston didn''t say anything.


    ¡°Will you come back with me, back home, so I can study your sword with you?¡±


    Windston looked at Bo, who raised his eyebrows and nodded. ¡°It''s okay with me,¡± he said. His nod became a head shake. He chuckled. ¡°I think everyone¡¯s okay with it.¡±


    Windston didn''t know what to say, so he didn''t say anything.


    ¡°All I need is for you to pick up that sword and carry it here to my handsome friends. And then you must come with me at first north, and then back south, back home.¡±


    Windston shrugged.


    ¡°This Galsia,¡± he said, ¡°my home¡­ this is your home, too, you know. Look at your yellow hair and your blue, blue eyes. This is where these features come from. Do you know this?¡±


    ¡°I don''t care about that.¡±


    ¡°The sword belongs there, Windston. For the sake of science and research. You do care about this, yes?¡±


    ¡°I don''t,¡± Windston said. ¡°And I don¡¯t like you. In fact, I¡¯d never go with you. Anywhere.¡±


    The scientist laughed. Bo cracked a smile.


    ¡°Ever,¡± Windston said. ¡°Ever, ever, ever.¡±


    ¡°Even with your sword?¡± Bo asked.


    ¡°Even with,¡± Windston said.


    ¡°But why not?¡± Wignof asked, and he made a quick look at one of his creepy guards.


    ¡°Because.¡±


    Barking. Barking, growling and a squeal.


    The squealing continued, along with crashing. There was a definite commotion downstairs. At least two men and a woman were involved; there was a shriek followed by raucous noise and yelling. And then there was a very abrupt, ¡°OUCH!¡±


    Wignof snapped a finger and the Galsian guards burst through the window and headed downstairs, much to the disapproval of Bo and the policeman, the latter drawing out and blowing his whistle at them.


    Windston jumped off the edge of the balcony just in time to see Frem burst out through the shattering side window of Bo''s office. He was carrying something under his arm; it looked like a rolled-up rug. It was a rolled-up rug, the one Bo said was from Mannley, but there was something aglow inside it.


    ¡°Hey!¡± Windston yelled. ¡°That''s my sword!¡±


    ¡°Yeah!¡± Frem laughed. ¡°I got it! Let''s get outta here!¡±


    Without hesitation, they did. They ran, Frem giggling. They ran, Windston laughing. They ran and ran and ran toward the beach. And then they ran up along it, north.


    After a bit, Frem threw Windston the rug, which he very quickly tilted to dump out his sword.


    There it was. His sword.


    ¡°Yes!¡± he yelled, holding it overhead, staring up at it.


    Something whizzed past and stuck into the side of the boathouse. It was a dart. Another flew at Frem, and then one of the Galsian guards looked as though he exploded fire from his back and flew into Windston like a rocket, ramming him hard with his shoulder.


    Windston flew into the building, the outer wall bursting into pieces. Inside, as he climbed to his feet, he saw, in the darkness, moonlit dust rising around the silhouette of a man with droopy spiked hair like limp bananas.


    It was difficult to consider this thing a man because, frankly, it didn''t look any more like a man than it did a woman. In fact, even bodily, it was ambiguous. Neither the shoulders, nor the hips, were too terribly wide. There wasn''t much muscle mass. In fact, Windston wondered if it was a living thing at all, based on how it moved.


    And how its eyes glowed.


    It approached quickly and he sliced at it, cutting off its hand.


    It didn''t yell, but it gripped its wrist and looked blankly at a single leaking tube sprouting out from it among sparking wires.


    There was a noise from outside. It was a pop, and it came with a flash. Limbs clattered against the walls and ceiling, and a foot flew inside.


    Frem grunted and a torso fell into the one Windston had cut. It fell beside Windston and met his eyes with one of its own. It was missing half its head.


    Windston jumped on instinct and burst through the top of the boathouse in a spatter of wood. Frem was down below on the shoreline, sticking up his middle fingers and chuckling, mocking whoever it was he was looking at off in the distance.


    Police whistles screamed everywhere in town, and Frem didn''t hesitate to blast the boathouse to oblivion now that Windston was clearly out and above it. He threw a volley at whoever he''d been taunting as well. Screams filled the air as Windston broke his fall with a roll in the sand.


    ¡°Come on,¡± Frem said. ¡°There''s more coming.¡±


    Windston nodded.


    They headed north into the woods as fast as they could. For all they knew those things could be out by the dozens, combing the area.


    Frem led the way from the sky. They headed this way, Windston trailing with leaps and sprints just behind. And then they cut a quick right and headed northeast for a bit. They moved this way mile after mile after mile until, finally, Frem swooped down and landed on the side of a cliff Windston knew all too well. It was a waterfall fed by a waterfall. Between the two was a pool of rapids over smooth stones. It was very loud, very misty, and very private.


    It was also Windston''s favorite place to bathe. Unfortunately, it was out of the way. Bathing there was a rare treat.


    ¡°I think we''re safe here,¡± Frem hollered down to Windston. ¡°Or, should I say, those things are safe from us.¡±


    Windston hopped up to the ledge. He dusted himself off before taking a seat on the boulder he usually sat on to take off his shoes for a bath. ¡°I come here all the time,¡± Windston said. ¡°I love it here.¡±


    Frem nodded. ¡°It¡¯s nice but I¡¯m beyond ready to leave.¡±


    ¡°How come?¡±


    ¡°I''m trying to go north, but those birds...¡± Frem said. ¡°They won''t let me go that way. That''s what I was doing this morning. I was trying to go west, and then north. They showed up right when I cut north. It''s like this place is booby trapped.¡±


    ¡°Weird. I¡¯m always looking for them but never find them.¡±


    Frem shrugged. ¡°I don''t usually hear them until they''re right on my trail. Funny thing is, they never follow me back here. It''s like... I don''t know. On purpose or something.¡±


    ¡°They wouldn''t come up here anyway.¡± Windston said, admiring his sword in the moonlight. ¡°Not unless they saw you jump up here.¡±


    ¡°You''re welcome, by the way,¡± Frem said. ¡°That stupid thing. It zapped me.¡±


    ¡°It zaps anyone who isn''t me,¡± Windston said. He shrugged. ¡°I guess maybe you aren¡¯t strong enough to use it.¡±


    ¡°That doesn''t make sense,¡± Frem said.


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°Because I''m probably a lot stronger than you are.¡±


    Windston laughed.


    ¡°I''m not kidding,¡± Frem said. ¡°I probably am. I''m the strongest kid I know,¡± he said, a thumb at his chest.


    ¡°Yeah? Well, I''m the strongest kid I know. And I know you.¡±


    Frem shook his head. ¡°You¡¯re not. I am.¡±


    Windston stood, puffed out his chest, smiling. ¡°I can pick up this boulder and throw it at you if you want me to prove it.¡±


    ¡°Go ahead. I''ll just catch it.¡±


    Windston smiled bigger, his eyebrows raised. He turned, squatted, and wrapped his arms around a narrow part of the boulder. Groaning, he stood back up; the boulder came up with him. ¡°Ready?¡± he asked, his face smushed against the side of the rock, which dripped soil from ripped roots.


    Frem didn''t say anything. He just lit his hands aglow.


    ¡°You can''t do that,¡± Windston said.


    ¡°Why the hell not?¡± Frem asked, his hands darkening again.


    ¡°Because that''s cheating.¡±


    ¡°How is that cheating? I was gonna blast it into smaller pieces so I could pick them up.¡±


    Windston laughed and set down the rock. It went mostly back in place, but it was wobbly and crooked now.


    ¡°You ruined it,¡± Frem said. ¡°It''ll take years to sit snug again, and all because of your big fat ego.¡±


    ¡°I don''t have an ego.¡± But the truth was, he did, despite the fact that he wasn''t sure what an ego was.


    ¡°Okay, buddy,¡± Frem said. ¡°Anyway, who cares who''s stronger?¡± Frem continued. ¡°I could flatten this whole forest if I wanted to.¡±


    ¡°That''d be a waste. The trees are the only good thing about this forest.¡±


    ¡°I''m not saying I would. But I could. You couldn''t.¡±


    Windston shrugged. ¡°It''s hard to blast anything without any arms.¡±


    ¡°It''s hard to cut arms off without any sword!¡± Frem yelled, his hands lit before Windston could do anything more than hold his sword in front of his face.


    But he didn''t blast him. He was just kidding. He fell backward laughing. And he kept laughing while Windston scowled in disgust.


    ¡°I don''t think you could hurt this sword anyway,¡± Windston said.


    ¡°Oh, yeah?¡± Frem asked, still on his back. He was about three feet from the water''s edge, close enough so that little splishes splashed his left arm and leg, and part of his torso. ¡°You wanna put that to the test?¡±


    ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°Let me shoot it.¡±


    Windston narrowed his eyes at Frem, who had lifted a leg and rested its ankle on top of his other knee. ¡°Maybe,¡± he said. ¡°I kind of wonder what would happen.¡±


    ¡°Set it down, then. Against that rock. I''ll hit it with a little one first.¡±


    Windston smiled and set the sword down while Frem squirmed so that he could see the rock and sword.


    ¡°You can''t be mad if it blows up.¡±


    Windston stroked his chin. ¡°I''m not worried about it blowing up. But it might fly off somewhere.¡±


    ¡°That''s true,¡± Frem said. ¡°Maybe you should hold it?¡±


    ¡°Better not shoot me.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t. I''ve been doing this all my life.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± Windston said, grabbing his sword and holding it out to the side, away from his body. Closing his eyes tightly, and his mouth, he turned his face as far away from the blade as possible and gripped the sword with all his might.


    ¡°Ready?¡± Frem asked.


    Windston nodded.


    There was a whirring sound, a sound of simultaneously rising and falling pitch, and then a steady hum. Windston cracked open an eye and saw a small ball floating above the palm of Frem''s right hand. He had one eye shut, and he was bouncing it despite that it never touched his skin. With a sudden jerk, he clasped the ball in his hand and tossed it like a snowball, right at the blade.


    It was a direct hit, and there was an immediate pop. The pop, however, was interrupted by a loud crack, followed by a hiss. The ball looked magnetically stuck to the side of the sword, and then its expansion began shrinking as the blade shone brightly, first on impact, and then all over. The light grew brighter and brighter until the ball was gone, and then it all shot into Windston''s hands, causing him to let go.


    ¡°Whoa,¡± Frem said. And then he said, ¡°Ha. Made you drop it.¡±


    Windston cringed and looked at his hands. The palms were pink, like the blade, and glowing. ¡°Ow!¡± he finally said. ¡°That hurts!¡±


    Frem laughed again. ¡°I guess it''s a draw. That¡¯s a really badass sword, though.¡±


    ¡°It is,¡± Windston agreed, nodding. Carefully, he reached down and touched the pommel. It was fine. He picked it up and looked the whole thing over. ¡°Looks fine to me.¡±


    ¡°I bet your hands hurt.¡±


    ¡°They''re buzzing. Feels weird.¡±


    ¡°That''s crazy,¡± Frem said. ¡°Speaking of buzzing,¡± he said, and he headed over toward the one single oak that grew up on the ledge of that cliff-side waterfall. Behind it was a bag, and he fetched it. ¡°And speaking of crazy¡­ check this out.¡± He tossed Windston the bag.


    Windston looked inside. The moons were bright, but, even still, he could only see what looked like jagged shreds of paper.


    ¡°Fish around in it,¡± Frem said. He was back to his spot by the water, staring up at the moons. ¡°I''ll tell you something while you look,¡± he said, staring at the red star. ¡°I''ll tell you that other secret.¡±


    ¡°Which one?¡±


    ¡°The one I was gonna tell you if you got me beer. You didn''t, but who cares. It''s probably nasty anyway.¡±


    ¡°I knew you never had one.¡±


    Frem shrugged. ¡°I wish. That guy. The woodpecker guy. He was talking about his dream. He said he met a guy with a swirl for a face.¡±


    ¡°He said that,¡± Windston agreed. ¡°He saw one, anyway.¡± He had found what felt like a large nut or seed. It was smooth as polished glass between what were evenly spaced bumps. He pulled it out and looked at it.


    ¡°Well, he wasn''t lying.¡±


    ¡°I know that,¡± Windston said. It was dark; he couldn''t see the color.


    ¡°There''s more in there than that,¡± Frem said. ¡°Find the blue one.¡±


    ¡°How will I know it''s blue?¡± Windston asked, fishing again.


    ¡°You''ll know,¡± Frem said. ¡°Anyway, I saw the swirl faced guy too. And the worm. I saw both with my own two eyes. It was probably around the same time as your friend. But I''m thinking maybe after.¡±


    ¡°Frank,¡± Windston said. He found another couple of seeds. They were all different shapes and textures. One was rough, like sandpaper. Another was barbed, like a cat''s tongue. One had jagged fins on it. One had spiky pokes. They were anything from completely spherical to oblong.


    ¡°I say that because there was a very troubled woodpecker headed back north down the trail. It flew north as if it had been deep south. That is, it was tired, and speeding, as if on an urgent quest. And that''s, of course, when I noticed the star. I craned my neck to watch the bird. The star caught my eye.¡±


    ¡°Uh-huh,¡± Windston said. He found the blue one. He knew he had. It trembled in his fingers. And it was difficult to move it this way or that. That is, it felt stuck in the air, and then, when moved, carried the momentum of something much heavier.


    He pulled it out and looked at it.


    ¡°Let go of it,¡± Frem said.


    ¡°What, drop it?¡± Windston asked. But he did before getting an answer. It was suspended in air. It moved, too. Ever so slightly, very slowly, it moved north. ¡°What the heck?¡± Windston said.


    Frem rose to his feet. ¡°It''s a dragon egg. Or so they say. I think it''s more of a seed, myself.¡±


    Windston stared in wonder at the egg. Or seed. It was directly in front of the moons, covering the red star. ¡°Looks more like a seed, I guess.¡±


    ¡°Well, I actually have reason to believe this,¡± Frem said. ¡°Of course, it''s small, like a seed. I mean, how could a dragon hatch from one of those? But, more importantly, I''ve got experience.¡±


    He headed Windston''s way and snatched the seed from the air. ¡°You see, you take it,¡± he said, pacing toward and then stopping at the rock. ¡°Where it goes. And then, whoosh, it flies up on its own in a beam of light and shoots into the ground. I''ve done it. Twice.¡± He wheeled and looked at Windston, smiling, winking, a thumb up; he grabbed Windston''s hand and slapped the seed into it.


    ¡°How many are there?¡±


    ¡°Nine, total,¡± Frem said. ¡°I''ve planted two, so we have seven.¡±


    ¡°We,¡± Windston said, making a face of surprise and resistance. ¡°Who said I want dragon seeds?¡±


    ¡°I said,¡± Frem said. ¡°I can tell. This is your kind of thing. You¡¯re a dragon guy. Like me.¡±


    The truth¡­ this was Windston''s exact kind of thing. In fact, he''d been just dying to form a group of super strong kids for the past two years ¨C if only he could find any. They''d call themselves the Super Kids, and they''d travel the world fighting evildoers. ¡°Okay, so what if it is? Where do we even plant this thing?¡±


    ¡°Where it goes?¡± Frem said, and he knocked on Windston''s head and made a hollow sound with his mouth. ¡°It''s going north. That¡¯s why we¡¯re going north. How easy could it be?¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Windston said, and he was suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of butterflies. ¡°That is easy,¡± he said, and he couldn''t not smile.


    ¡°So... I''ve rescued you not only from the evil Bo Beeman, but his creepy little doctor friend with his little robots. I got you your sword back. I''ve confirmed your friend''s crazy story with a matching story of my own. I even let you do me favors so you don¡¯t overly owe me or anything.¡± He shrugged and tapped his chin. ¡°Definitely seems like I¡¯m friend material.¡±


    Windston smiled. ¡°I guess,¡± he finally said.


    ¡°You guess?!¡± Frem asked, his eyes suddenly wide, his fangs bared, and his hands outstretched, glowing white and crackling.


    ¡°Whoa,¡± Windston said.


    ¡°I''m super powerful!¡± Frem yelled at the top of his lungs.


    ¡°So am I!¡± Windston yelled too, only he was ignored.


    ¡°With nine dragons of my own by my side, I''ll take over as king, as ruler, as emperor of the world!¡± He fell to his knees and gripped at nothing in tight fists beneath his chin, staring skyward. ¡°And you can be my royal advisor,¡± he said to Windston.


    ¡°Bodyguard,¡± Windston said.


    ¡°Bodyguard,¡± Frem agreed. ¡°You are kinda strong, I guess.¡±


    ¡°The strongest kid in the world,¡± Windston corrected him.


    ¡°The strongest kid in the world,¡± Frem repeated, shrugging. ¡°But I am the most powerful!¡±


    ¡°No, I am,¡± Windston said. He stepped forward and faced the tree. ¡°I can punch really hard!¡± he yelled, punching the tree. It shook violently as hole after hole after hole was punched into its trunk. Bark and splinters sprayed out of the other side, and apples fell by the bushel.


    ¡°Well,¡± Frem said, ¡°can you blow up trees?!¡± he asked, charging a massive ball of energy between both outstretched hands. There was a sound, a tone ascending and descending all at once, and then whirling and hissing. Everything went blank as the world became nothing and the bright white light became everything; there was an explosion that spelled doom for an entire acre two acres away. Dirt and wood and pedals and ash fell all around them as a fire blazed and smoke rose. Frem laughed diabolically, veins in his eyes, bulging arteries in his neck.


    He looked at Windston and heaved in and out. ¡°What say you? Shall you be my friend?¡±


    Windston, who was staring over Frem at the cataclysmic mess he''d made, said, ¡°Yes. Yes, I will.¡±

 Three: A Wormy Way to Die

    ¡°Then it is settled!¡± Frem yelled. ¡°Why should the future dragon emperor of the dragoons deny himself the splendor of his own plucking should he fancy a handful of seeds? Should he suffer his own desires in vain, unsatisfied?¡± He laughed a long, uproarious laughter. It kept going, and going, and going.


    When he was done, he looked at Windston, smiling, fangs bared. His eyes were crazed, his hair was wild, and his hands lit with a simmering blaze.


    ¡°We are the most powerful boys in the world,¡± he finally said. ¡°Super powered and free. I knew this as soon as we fought side-by-side for the first time.¡±


    Windston nodded, suddenly staring at his sword. He shrugged. ¡°We are,¡± he said, nodding.


    ¡°Damn right we are!¡± Frem yelled. ¡°I can fly,¡± he said, leaping. ¡°I can shoot!¡± he said, firing a flurry of blasts at the burning woods ahead. ¡°And I will have nine dragons!¡± he yelled.


    ¡°Or eight,¡± Windston said.


    ¡°Why only eight?¡± Frem asked.


    ¡°Because I''ll need one too!¡± Windston shouted.


    ¡°We''ll take over the world!¡± Frem yelled.


    ¡°And do whatever we want!¡± Windston yelled.


    ¡°Yeah!¡±


    ¡°Yeah!¡±


    ¡°Yeah!¡±


    ¡°Yeah!¡±


    ¡°We''re super kids!¡± Frem shouted as loud as he possibly could. ¡°Hear us roar!¡±


    Windston immediately fell backward in surprise. ¡°Super kids?¡± he asked. ¡°But I''ve been dying to be one for forever. How did you...?¡±


    Frem laughed and, with that, grabbed his bag and booked it north, Windston chasing after him. They found Rat Road, Old Rat Road and hauled butt. They ran and glided faster than they had ran or glided before in what became a race north. There were slices here, blasts there, and fists full of splinters from wild punches. Carriage folk they passed shuttered and quailed; horses flinched and whinnied; dogs, cats, raccoons and bears alike scattered in fright at the sight of them. The super kids were on the loose for the very first time ever, and they were having a blast ¨C literally, in some cases.


    In another case, they got a little carried away. A wrestling match in the treetops ensued, and they were tossing and flipping and throwing one another. At one key point, they barreled down atop a campfire surrounded by men, and those men were bandits. They were still brushing embers and coughing as the scattering men regrouped. One of them let out a chuckle.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you just say you were hungry for something that ain''t fish, Tom?¡±


    ¡°Hungry?¡± Frem asked. ¡°Eat this!¡± he said and shot a blast right at the man''s gaping mouth.


    Blood misted and the fight was on.


    Bandits are skilled robbers, muggers and fighters. But these boys were not the sort these bandits were used to messing with. Knives couldn''t stick them, and axes couldn''t cleave them. And yet the boys'' own devices worked perfectly. A bandit exploded here, another there. Limbs flew and heads rolled. The boys were merciless and brutal. All of Windston''s years of frustration and anger and rage poured out at once as the blood flowed and cries rang shrill. Frem had his own issues to work out.


    One last bandit stood, and he ran toward Windston raging and waving an axe wildly about. Windston grabbed the axe by the blade with his good hand and, with his left, punched the bandit straight through the mouth and out the other side. There he stood, a bandit dangling from his elbow, impaled through the face and head on his arm. It was as disgusting as it was glorious.


    By the time they were finished, they needed a bath and new clothes. Fortunately, a waterfall fell strong to the immediate north and east of the bandit camp, along a ridge of rock, and a stream trickled not too far south and west from it, one with fish traps full of wiggly fish.


    And there were chests in a broken wagon stuffed with garments and jewels. Frem grabbed a couple bracelets, and Windston took a woodpecker whistle Frank had given him off its twine and threaded it with gold rope. They were as clean as they were stylish, as full as they were satisfied, and finding more and more gold here and there as they searched.


    This bandit camp turned out to be a slaver camp as well. They found three very skinny people in a rusty little cage on the back of a small wagon. They let them out to eat but the slaves ran off screaming and moaning instead. Apparently, they had seen what had happened to their captors and didn''t much approve, despite the freeing.


    Windston and Frem didn''t care. They laughed as they stood on a nearby table, looking over their booty, their field of victory. This was step one of what would be their rise of power over the worldwide forces of evil. How lucky they were to have found bandits so soon, to practice their craft, the craft of slaying wicked men and women, and freeing the innocent.


    ¡°Be you wary!¡± Frem shouted. ¡°All ye bandits and pirates and scallywags! Avast! Ye shall find yer swift end at my hand! Repent! Give back what ye have taken, ye fleas, ye scourge!¡±


    ¡°Ye varmints!¡± Windston added.


    ¡°Ye mongrels! For I take pity not on you, but on your victims! Watch them flee in fear!¡± he yelled, looking down the road at the hobbling slaves. ¡°Watch them stumble!¡± he laughed.


    Windston chuckled as one of the slaves tripped and fell because he had been looking over his shoulder rather than ahead.


    ¡°Watch them, panic stricken and feeble. They art our flock! They art our peasant folk!¡±


    ¡°Our sheep!¡± Windston said. ¡°We are not wolves! The bandits are wolves!¡±


    ¡°We are... their savior?¡± Frem asked, looking at Windston, who shrugged. They both laughed. ¡°I think they''re more scared of us than the bandits.¡±


    ¡°I would be,¡± Windston said.


    ¡°Which reminds me,¡± Frem said. ¡°En Garde!¡±


    ¡°Aye!¡± Windston yelled, blocking a very swift knife swipe from Frem. They were at it again, rolling and tumbling, dirtying their new clothes. They were ferocious, and vicious, and terrifying to behold. But even still, they were children. There was a lot they still didn''t know, a lot that could come in handy on their journey. For one thing, rumors spread, and not all rumors come out at the end exactly how they start. For another, they were being watched by a living dead man.


    The boys didn''t know that. Therefore, they didn''t care. They were in fact as carefree as they were careless. They continued their brawling well into the night, breaking sword after sword, knife after knife, until they were down to their fists. Frem hit hard, that was for sure, but even he couldn''t inflict pain on Windston. Windston, on the other hand, as quick as he was, could hardly land a glancing blow on Frem. Frem was like a cat whereas Windston was like a dog.


    The boys eventually tired themselves and crashed beside the dead and their dying fire. They dreamed of battling ghosts all night and awoke as tired as they had slept.


    Together, on a log high up on the ridge to the east, they ate jerky for dinner, honeycomb for dessert, and one after another of these very gushy fruits they had found by the box load near the slave cage. Each fruit was grape-shaped and about as big as a pecan, maybe bigger. The outside was very chewy, and the inside was liquid. The liquid burst in their mouths with each bite in what was a mildly sweet and refreshingly crisp explosion. Frem was the first to take a big bite. He laughed and handed a few to Windston, told him he''d had them before, when he was down south near the Southern Fall.


    ¡°They''re so good,¡± he said. ¡°I had like five of them. Oh man. So good. But they make you drunk or something. Or maybe whatever it is you feel after you smoke. I felt so weird. Everything was so weird. But I never threw up.¡±


    The truth was that they didn''t make you drunk. Nor did they make you high. Zephyr had its special maple mead, and Wile had its special grapes. These grapes really were grapes, only they were different. They were bigger, juicier, and zestier than normal grapes. And they were full of a chemical compound found in abundance in nothing else. They were potent. And they were a delicacy enjoyed by most within Gorrals, and the very rich within six-hundred miles of Gorrals thought they were worth buying by the barrel.


    After they finished the box, they launched themselves down the cliff and plopped hard on the ground. Windston spit grass and Frem plucked a thorny vine from his sleeve, both of them laughing hysterically.


    The trip north was also very funny to them, but very slow too, because they were so often teetering. They found themselves full to bursting of song... and piss. Lots of singing, lots of pissing. A song here, a piss there. About four miles in they realized they were headed south and turned around, which was all the more hilarious to them.


    By the time noon rolled around they were back where they started, where they decided it was about as good a time as any to stop for lunch, and maybe a couple more of those delicious berry things. Turns out, they had missed a whole box, which had been stashed under the slave cage. On it, Frem read the words, ¡°Authentic Gooshberries of the Southern Wile,¡± and nodded. ¡°That was it,¡± he said. ¡°I remember that now.¡±


    They took a seat on the floor of the cage and had a couple more. They locked themselves inside to prove how easy it would be to get out, only it wasn''t.


    But they did get out, after they realized an armed bandit had been sleeping behind the cage under a pile of petals and beside a toppled box of spilled gooshberries, and these ones were green.


    He was haggardly and old, his mouth all but vacant of teeth. He was hacking all the sudden, which was how they realized he was there. He was sitting up, and his eyes were crossed.


    ¡°Check it out,¡± Frem said to Windston. ¡°There''s more,¡± he said.


    Windston noticed, although it was hard to focus on any one berry.


    He bent a bar, and then another, and tried squeezing out.


    The pressure was immense, and he got stuck for a minute; but with a few grunts and a lot of help from Frem, he fell out the other side and rolled over the bandit ¨C who sat up swinging a dagger ¨C and grabbed one of the green berries.


    Frem crawled over him and grabbed one too.


    The bandit, whose eyes still crossed, just laughed.


    ¡°Well, I''ll be,¡± he said. ¡°Looks like you boys are thinking what I''m thinking.¡±


    Frem smiled at him. ¡°Maybe,¡± he said, tossing back a berry. He laughed, his eyes narrowed.


    The bandit smiled bigger, revealing a mouth full of a mixture of gooshberry skins and flower petals.


    ¡°We killed your friends,¡± Windston said.


    ¡°Oh yeah?¡± The bandit peered over the bottom of the cage, through the bars at at least one dead bandit. ¡°Well,¡± he said, his eyes wide, his head bobbing slowly this way, then that way, ¡°you know what I say.¡± He looked at Frem, and then at Windston. ¡°A friend''s as good as a friend can be until they ain''t yer friend no more.¡± He smacked his lips and nodded.


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Windston ignored him, ate another berry. Frem did the same, only he was staring at the bandit.


    The two boys fell asleep where they were shortly after. When they awoke, the fire was going, and the dead bandits were gone.


    The live bandit was feeding the fire. He had found a fish, and it was stuck with a spit above the flames.


    ¡°There they are,¡± he said when he noticed them.


    They were stumbling his way, smiling because, although the world was still spinning, they felt fine. In fact, they felt like having more berries. And maybe some fish.


    And so that''s what they did. Fester, as it turned out he was called, was a very fine bandit. A very fine bandit indeed, Frem said with his arm around him. ¡°You are a gentleman,¡± he said, poking his chest. Their eyes were locked in what was the most sincere and friendly moment either of them had had in their entire lives. ¡°I mean it.¡±


    The three of them did all sorts of wonderful things that day.


    They danced in-sync with one another atop a shallow waterfall, something that involved swaying first this way, the arms following in a scoop, the feet stepping, and then the other, same thing ¨C repeat.


    They peed over the edge of that same waterfall together, all at the same time.


    They drew animals and monsters in a cave, art that would perhaps be discovered during an excavation hundreds of years later and mistaken for ancient artifacts thousands of years old.


    They stood around all the gathered up boots and shoes of all the dead bandits, which they pledged they''d donate to the poor.


    They threw those same boots at what were at first angry, and then frightened, passersby from behind a giant boulder atop a low-lying cliff along the edge of Rat Road, Old Rat Road.


    They even found more treasure, a wagon full of crystals hidden beneath a black tarp. They were all red, all shiny, and all humming. They hid them in the cave they found nearby, blocked it with a pile of rubble and marked it with their new best friends forever flag, which was a bit of fabric they found near the slave cage they''d tied to a stick.


    Most interesting, though, and even a bit sobering, was when they spotted the thing in the sky. It was way up high. They saw it between clouds while they cloud watched. They had found animals and booby ladies and all sorts of other shapes in the clouds ¨C swords and dragons and even a wiener ¨C before they noticed this thing.


    ¡°What do you think it is?¡± Frem asked, trying very hard to focus despite an odd sensitivity in his eyes.


    ¡°I don''t know,¡± Windston said.


    ¡°Looks like... a basket,¡± Fester said. ¡°A basket dangling from a balloon.¡±


    ¡°A ba-what?¡± the boys both asked; and then they laughed.


    ¡°A balloon,¡± Fester said. ¡°It''s like a bag of air that goes up, up, up.¡±


    The boys tried to focus on it again, only they couldn''t.


    ¡°I wonder what''s in it,¡± Frem said.


    ¡°No doubt treasure,¡± Fester said.


    ¡°Treasure?!¡± Frem exclaimed, his eyes wide.


    Fester nodded. ¡°Probably golden bunny rabbits or bushels of chocolates.¡±


    ¡°Windston,¡± Frem said, pointing up and back, but not at all at the balloon. ¡°We gotta get that thing down.¡±


    Windston wasn''t looking at Frem. He was looking at what appeared to be more balloons. A lot more. They just seemed to come into focus, as if they had just appeared. Only, the truth was simpler: they fell slowly into view from very, very, very high heights.


    ¡°Well,¡± Windston said, just as Frem said ¡°whoa¡± at noticing more, ¡°go ahead and shoot at em.¡±


    ¡°Don''t mind if I do,¡± Frem said, standing, teetering.


    ¡°Steady,¡± Fester said. ¡°Steady.¡±


    But that was an impossible request. Frem fired like mad, straight up in the air, over and over and over again.


    For over a minute.


    Finally, something popped. There was an explosion. A flaming balloon raced down trailing a giant woven box whose door flew open and shut.


    Its path led it directly over the boys, and it landed with a thud not too far behind them, against a rising cliff-face further east of Rat Road.


    Immediately, with a smile, both boys darted off, leaving Fester alone, who lay still and smiling as he stared up at the sky.


    Windston was the first to find the balloon, and Frem swooped down only moments after he realized there was no treasure at all.


    In fact, there were only bugs. Worms, to be exact. Or caterpillars. These larva things with six little legs at the front and whose ends smoked plumes of dusty black filth; they wiggled about rather than crawled, vomiting, stinking, pressing stingers out of their smoking butts at nothing and each other.


    ¡°Gross!¡± Frem said, kicking the basket. Black dusty smoke billowed, covering them with what looked like soot.


    ¡°Nice!¡± Windston said, shaking himself off. ¡°You''re an idiot.¡±


    ¡°Who would do this?¡± Frem asked, gagging. ¡°Like, seriously; who would put a bunch of worms up in the sky? And why would they do that?¡±


    ¡°I don''t know,¡± Windston said, but he had noticed something; a scatter of worms trailing back from where they''d come. Apparently, they had spilled out while they had fallen. They were probably covering fester.


    They followed the trail back to Fester. He was dead.


    Something had been standing over him. It presently walked away from him. He was slumped over and in a brown robe, pale white as if he was dead too.


    ¡°Fester!¡± Frem yelled. ¡°Holy crap! I think he''s dead!¡±


    Windston just stared at the brown robed person, unable to speak. However, as it slipped into the woods and out of view, Windston forgot all about it. His eyes found Fester, whose face was purplish and whose eyes were bulging, glassy and reddening. ¡°Looks like he choked,¡± Windston said, pointing.


    ¡°He''s covered in worms!¡± Frem shouted, brushing them off. ¡°They''re... eating him!¡± he said, batting more away.


    It was true. They were eating him. They were curled up on him like fire ants, their butts injecting him with venom and their pincers gnawing away.


    Frem spent the better part of a minute kicking and stomping at the worms. But it seemed like the more worms he kicked away, the more there were.


    And it was true. Windston couldn''t figure out why until one landed on his arm. At first, he very suspiciously watched the crawling ground to see if he could see a hopper or two. But none hopped. Instead, they plopped ¨C hundreds of them. They fell to and plopped on the ground by the dozen. He looked up and, to his surprise, saw more and more of those baskets, as well as hundreds of specks that were indeed worms.


    ¡°It''s raining deadly worms!¡± he exclaimed.


    Frem wailed in horror. He launched blast after blast skyward until half a dozen balloons came crashing down. The problem was that more appeared. More and more and more. Hundreds of balloons carrying boxes faded into view, appearing blue and translucent at first, almost misty, and then very clearly.


    Windston coughed.


    Frem kept firing. Windston coughed violently. And then there was what sounded like a faint bubbling. Or maybe it was a puttering. It was something rhythmic, but also quiet. But it was getting louder.


    It was growing closer. It came from their left. It was shrouded by trees.


    It got louder. And louder. And louder. And then it got quieter.


    ¡°What... the freaking... heck?¡± Frem said.


    Windston scrambled up a tree. It was difficult to do so, what with all the teetering clumsiness caused by the berries. But he managed to climb.


    What he saw, far off, headed south and then wheeling west, was one very wide, almost rectangular, balloon. It wasn''t like the others, which were a patchwork of red and white. It had a patch of green, a patch of red, a patch of white, and a patch of blue. Four patches bound by thread and fastened to the boxes by ropes formed one rectangular balloon. And something that made a putter, putter, putter, softly and quietly, but consistently, lay flat against the forward-facing surface of the box.


    It wheeled north. And then it rose. It rose high, quickly. It was a rectangular balloon with rounded edges, and, fastened by ropes below it, there was a rectangular box. It wasn''t woven, like the basket from before; it was solid wood, more rigid, and there were windows.


    It rose high as if it had been caught in a thermal. And then it wheeled north, steadied, and tilted so that it faced downward at the boys. In front, over the windshield of what was a carriage of sorts, were two spinning fans, the source of the putter-putter.


    It was an airship, and it descended slowly their way.


    A chill ran down Windston''s spine, but even it was interrupted by a very loud trumpet blast that came directly from the box.


    An arm protruded from one of the side windows, and it waved wildly.


    ¡°Shoot it!¡± Windston yelled.


    Frem fired one shot. The box and balloon exploded in a sudden burst of planks and flaming fabric.


    One man fell as well. He kicked and squirmed, and then launched forward as a long and sharp flame shot out from a pack on his back. He moved faster than anything they''d ever seen, but only briefly, as his destination was the side of a very high cliff. There, he exploded, and bits of him fell to the ground.


    The boys panted heavily. Things had gotten very weird very fast.


    ¡°We were having fun just ten minutes ago,¡± Frem said.


    Windston nodded, his eyes wide; he suddenly remembered the robed person and wondered how he hadn''t.


    Frem gestured skyward. ¡°But I guess we''ve got work to do.¡±


    It was just then that Windston glanced upward and happened to notice what looked like a giant something stretching out from behind a very puffy collection of clouds. It was so long, and so wide, the black stretching thing, that, by the time it was halfway out, it looked as though it would end up bigger than one singular cumulus cloud.


    ¡°What is that?!¡± Frem yelled, fluttering to the ground and stumbling briefly to a fall when he got there.


    ¡°It''s like a flying boat,¡± Windston said. His heart was in his stomach.


    It was halfway out. It appeared to be concave underneath, the edges lower than the middle. The edges were bright, like cold steel, and the underside was a dull black. What Windston first noticed turned out to be the nose of this thing. It was flat, and its sides widened ever so slightly as it reached back toward the rear. On either side, the rear fanned out.


    Completely out in the open, it looked a bit like a flying kite shield with harsh angles, and there didn''t appear to be any reason why it should stay airborne. No glow. No shimmer. No fan. No balloon. And it made no noise; there was only a low hum that reverberated deep in the bones that could''ve belonged to anything else.


    ¡°Should I?¡± Frem asked, just as it let out a very loud, drawn out horn call that rumbled the tree beneath Windston''s feet.


    ¡°Yes!¡± Windston yelled, his hands clamped to his ears.


    Frem fired. He fired and fired and fired and fired. But when the blasts exploded, he stopped. They were like tiny pops against an invisible field around the massive hull, and they appeared to have done absolutely nothing to what was now, as it was close enough to hear, this growling, humming machine.


    It was three-hundred meters at its widest point and a kilometer long at its longest.


    There was another several calls that came along with the long grumbling one from above.


    And then there were dots that became more of the smaller manned balloon ships like the one Frem shot down.


    They let loose a flurry of something ¨C flaming matter of some sort. And then the very large ship shot down twin rays of sustained green energy that cut into the ground like jets of water into mud, leaving smoldering trails of melted sand and flaming dust.


    Twice this ship shot down these green rays. They crossed this way and that like searchlights near the boys. Both times, the boys scrambled aimlessly.


    Finally, Windston gathered his wits and made a break for his sword, which he was pretty sure he''d left somewhere on the ground near Fester.


    Frem followed him.


    Both of them skidded to a stop atop the cliff where Fester lay.


    There, between Fester and them, hunched over and admiring Windston''s sword, was a hooded and robed figure. Its face was shrouded, but its hands and arms, bared halfway up the forearm, were visible. There in those places, it was naked, and it was white, the gray-white skin of a dead or dying young man.


    It stood and looked at them, its face nothing more than a blur or a smear and swirling from the inside out with what could only be described as ambiguity in motion. It was not like smoke or anything like it, as it was not like anything material, but rather more unlike anything at all.


    ¡°Oh my God,¡± Frem said in a panic, raising his arms and shooting at the thing.


    It held a hand out and the blasts slowed in a field of blurred air before fading.


    It stepped over the sword and toward Windston, a hand outstretched to him. Both boys recoiled in terror.


    The black ship continued to rain hell behind them, the bandit camp, and the field it was in, now a steaming pit of endless abyss.


    The being continued toward them and reached down its hand as if to steady Windston with a gesture. Windston froze. He felt sick from head to toe, and then there was warmth on his abdomen as all went black.


    Frem watched in horror; the creature had lifted its robe, revealing that it had nothing at all in terms of private parts. There was only smooth skin, as gray white as the rest of it. From its tailbone, a stinger protruded and throbbed rhythmically. As it squatted over Windston, its stinger dripped green smoldering ooze that pooled on Windston¡¯s stomach. Where it leaked over his side, grass burned.


    There were voices overhead. Men from all sorts of box balloons dangled from them by ropes before dropping to a free-fall, boosting away as fire propelled then forward from their backs. They surrounded the boys and the swirl-faced being. They surrounded them and then launched an attack.


    The being sprouted wings like a dragonfly¡¯s and flew upward with a buzz.


    Windston came to, grabbed his sword, and immediately began to fight. Men fell all around them, and there was a vaguely familiar voice yelling louder than a voice can yell from the sky, and in a language they couldn''t understand.


    The black ship turned so that its nose was over them.


    The swirl-face launched downward at the boys, poised for attack.


    Just as it was about to fall down on Frem, a dead man all in black except for his face, leaped up and over the cliff-side and plowed foot-first into the swirl-face¡¯s side.


    They both tumbled, and then they began to fight.


    The dead man wielded spikes, powder white, one in each hand, each three feet long.


    The swirl-face fought back with similar spikes that extended from its forearm at the wrists.


    They were fast, sometimes airborne, sometimes tumbling, but they always landed on their feet.


    During a pause, the dead man kicked Windston in the side, and used Frem, who flew after him, as a means to kick himself downward and toward Windston for one final blow.


    The swirl-face, who dived after Windston, found himself evading blasts from Frem instead.


    All four of them plummeted toward the pit in the ground where the ship had torn the earth.


    But the swirl-face flew up, and Frem flew after him as the dead man tossed a grappling hook and Windston sunk beneath the surface of the earth.


    There, he fell. He fell and fell as the dead man climbed and Frem chased after the swirl.


    After a brief skirmish, Frem fell too. He fell first, and then he flew after Windston, determined to catch him, stop his fall.


    But alas, deep beneath the earth, where the light could not reach them, he lost his way.


    Neither could see as they fell for what felt like an eternity.


    Into blackness, the unknown, they fell and fell and fell.


    The dead man watched. He watched until he could not see them anymore as he dangled from his hooked rope; and then he looked upward and listened, but there was no more fighting. There was only a steady humming that grew louder as it hovered upward past the boys, past the dead man, and into the light of day. It was shaped like a lozenge, crimson like blood and ten feet long at the longest. It rose upward into the shadow of the black ship while silent men searched for the swirl-face and the buzzing swirl flew away in a thickening rain of worms north, away from the commotion.

 Agnessa and Rain

    A man died. He died desperate. He died a human of an alien sickness. He died in the canyon between the desert spine of Galsia and the range called Clemency. He died on a holy pilgrimage called the Sword and the Stone. He died because he touched the stone. He died alone.


    A girl found him. First, she found the point of his consciousness, wayward, a wandering flame within inner reality ¨C where dreams touch the edge of physicality. To the soul, she sang; and for the soul, she danced. For weeks, she did this nightly, depicted as her higher self, her awareness projected away from her sleeping physical body ¨C the body of a child.


    Weeks later, physically, as the child she was, she found his physical body, the body his inner self had discarded.


    She was recently alone, escaped from both the prison of her childhood rearing and the only person she ever loved who loved her back.


    She was scared, but she knew the face. It was the same but milky white, gray-eyed, and broken under charcoal black hair.


    The body¡¯s mouth was gaping, the eyes widened in a fixed expression of terror. But it was the face she grew to like, maybe even love, in the only version of probable futures she found bearable.


    And the body still breathed.


    ¡°Rain,¡± she squeaked physically, unable to sound like the woman she''d always been in inner reality. ¡°Rain?¡±


    The body gave no answer, and with her inner senses she detected no human presence. There was only a still and quiet awareness hovering just over the body, trying to force its way inside as it had done for weeks. This presence, she felt, was dull. It throbbed a steady pulse, just enough to keep the blood within the body circulating, the body breathing. But it didn''t reach out. It felt as though it was waiting, waiting for a response from something ¨C something somewhere far away and sleeping.


    ¡°Rain?¡± she called. ¡°Rain Gray?¡±


    She closed her eyes and sat beside the body. She leaned on its shoulder, rested her face against its cheek.


    It flopped over, an arm smacking the dusty stone floor with a thud.


    The presence became aware of her. It changed from a dull yellow to a brighter orange as it flinched and shrank away from her. It became red and then it extended so that it was the colors of the rainbow, only still, it wasn''t human, and the colors weren''t arranged in the human pattern.


    What was it thinking? Could she decipher such an alien frequency?


    It only wondered, a simple question: can I... infect... this host?


    ¡°What?¡± she asked it.


    ¡°May I enter your body? I will it if I may. I will it very much. Help me to do so? Will you help me to do so by leaving? Will you leave of your own volition so that I don''t have to make you go? You do not need to be here. You can go away. You can. You can. You can do that.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she said back. ¡°This is my body. You can''t have it. I''m using it alone.¡±


    The presence brightened brighter, so she scolded it with a shushing look and blanketed it with a burning field of white light.


    It cowered back, diminished, and was gone.


    The body of Rain gasped, and one of the eyes tracked slowly until it met her astonished gaze. This was good; the bodily consciousness remained intact.


    ¡°The body is still alive,¡± she said. ¡°Rain! Come here! I can put you back! I know how to do it! I do!¡±


    There was no response. In the dark and rocky expanse, there was just Agnessa, a girl of nine years old, and the dead young man of nineteen.


    ¡°RAIN!¡± she shouted within inner reality.


    She found him. He was creeping along one of the tunnels of the monastery she had fled, the rock-cut wonder of the ancient world she''d called home.


    He noticed her presence and looked at her. She shared her thoughts with him, and he saw where she was, though he did not see her there as her physical self.


    He was there in an instant.


    ¡°What are you doing here?¡± he asked. ¡°I was looking for you, but I couldn''t find you.¡±


    ¡°I''m hiding,¡± she said. ¡°That''s why you can''t see me. No one can. I''m hiding from my brother. He''s looking for me, I think.¡±


    ¡°He must be hiding too, for I felt him not,¡± Rain said.


    She nodded. ¡°He is. He''s physically buried in the rocks,¡± she said, gesturing in the direction from which she''d come, a gesture he could not see but could very strongly feel. ¡°But he''s not hiding from me so that I cannot find him. He''s wandering in some probable future. He¡¯s looking for a probable me that can unwittingly reveal to him my secret: where I was hiding right now in this probable past. He will not find out.¡±


    Rain looked at his physical body when he realized it¡¯d been his. Although it had distracted him, he got the gist of what she''d said.


    ¡°I need you here,¡± she said, and he felt those words to the core, as she''d intended. ¡°Rain, I need you to focus physically again for me, if only for a while.¡±


    He grimaced. ¡°Why would I do that? I died. I''m dead. And it''s great, better than before.¡±


    ¡°To help me, Rain. I need your help.¡±


    ¡°In what way could I help you? I''m like a baby while you''re like God.¡±


    She looked perplexed. ¡°In every way, you could help me. You could,¡± she said. ¡°And I know you would. I''m not a god, or anything like that. And yet my task requires that I struggle against forces equivalent to one, and I can''t. Not without you. Don''t you see that? I see it clear as anything.¡±


    Rain crossed his arms. ¡°I can''t anyway. My focus is no longer physical. I''m beyond that now.¡±


    ¡°Are you?¡± she asked.


    He flinched; the question was deliberately cruel, for the dead usually believe their death is some sort of graduation. That is, if they know they''re dead. ¡°Mostly,¡± he admitted.


    ¡°Are you?¡± she asked again, sharing with him a flash of his very human desires, yearnings and despairs; all the things he¡¯d kept at bay now hovered nearest to the surface of his awareness. These flashes were not in words but were momentary enactments during which he realistically experienced all the things he desperately wished he''d experienced while still physically alive. He desired to extend his being to assist; he desired to expand as a physical being; he desired to love through success and failure in ways only possible under a threat of life or physical death.


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    He scoffed at her in scorn. ¡°Shame on you for making me admit that. How selfish of you.¡±


    I can grant you this chance to play out these scenarios physically,¡± she said. ¡°That''s why I ask. That''s the only reason. I am capable of realigning you with your body. Do you know that about me?¡±


    He nodded. He knew only her true self, the multidimensional entity from which the fragment she was, that called herself Agnessa Iadora, sprang. It was, her higher self, as far as he could understand it, a completely developed goddess compared to what was his grubbiness and ignorance.


    ¡°Then let me help you help me,¡± she said. ¡°Isn''t that what you want? To be as helpful to me as I''ve been to you? I feel that too. Feel it, Rain.¡±


    ¡°I''m afraid,¡± he admitted, and it was true; who knew what he would be reunited with broken flesh?


    ¡°I can do it,¡± she said. ¡°I can make you whole and strong.¡±


    ¡°But how will I appear? My body is broken.¡±


    ¡°I can try...¡± she said. ¡°I will try...¡± she said, ¡°...to make you appear to be who you were before.¡±


    ¡°I''ll be a monster,¡± he said.


    ¡°Not to me,¡± she promised. ¡°I''ll love you more and more.¡±


    ¡°But to everyone who looks at me,¡± he said. ¡°How can I bear this?¡±


    ¡°For a while,¡± she said, even then searching through probabilities like one flips hurriedly through a book. ¡°There are many examples you live out during which you''re beautifully whole again,¡± she promised. ¡°We can steer toward that. I can help you with the power of my deepest intent.¡±


    He sighed, a strange thing to do without a physical body, and yet something he found himself frequently doing nonetheless. ¡°I want you to know that I do this only under pressure. I want you to remember that I do this against my will.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± was all she replied.


    He didn''t say anything for a while. In a moment, he felt a cold rush move through every aspect of his awareness. It quickly warmed, and he felt weightless as he floated, as his inner vision faded. Stars rushed past; universes surrounded him. With a pop, he was outside of all known physical space. He was in an area within inner reality throughout which nothing had ever directed a thought. The space was fresh, completely unused, and yet directly at the center of an overlapping point where all realities coincide.


    Everything black became a warm blue, like the sky on a sunny day without a sun, cloud or world to blight it with anything but it itself. There was a warming sensation of endless love that stretched on for eternity. A feeling of blissfulness seeped into his every being until he forgot that he was anything more than bliss itself, for that bliss, the bliss of love toward the possibility of endless creative expression, was what fueled existence to begin with.


    He heard a familiar sound, that ringing pitch in the center of awareness that rises in clarity the more one focuses on it. It overwhelmed him until he breathed it in, and breathed it out, and his heart beat slowly, and then galloped faster.


    He gasped. His throat hurt like knives had cut slices within him, from his mouth to his lungs.


    Agnessa felt the pain within him and soothed it.


    His eyes cracked, dry and pained. She soothed those too.


    His lungs were shallow, and she helped him to expand them.


    His skin was bruised all over and she made it smooth and relaxed.


    She relaxed his muscles, from his head to his toes.


    She evened the frequency of his brain so that it synced with that of his inner being.


    She stretched and calmed his nerves.


    She reminded his cells of who he¡¯d been, and they immediately went on the attack against alien intrusions.


    He quaked in fever, and she sped the process in confidence that he would live.


    He did live, and she tried one last thing:


    She reached within herself and painted his appearance to look as beautiful as the man he''d been in inner reality.


    But his cells paid her no heed. Cells are shaped by who we are, what we see ourselves to be.


    In that crucial moment, as he gasped, he remembered only that he''d been dead, broken, tarnished, and abandoned to lie unattended for weeks. He believed it in his core, that that was his reality.


    This is how he appeared to be.


    He stood, his head rushing, the world of darkness spinning.


    She steadied him and assisted him as he left the place of his death.


    They wandered alone together, in the caves, slowly, for days. Eventually, they found the light of day through a small hole in the rock.


    They both blinked, blinded by the light.


    He looked upon her in horror. She was facially beautiful like a cherub, pale and feeble in the sun, silver-headed and with eyes that matched, just like within inner reality. But she was a child, very unlike the spirit he met in the afterlife, that fleeting dream to him now, that memory of a memory of a memory he could only remember to try to remember in vain.


    ¡°I didn''t know,¡± he began to say, only his jaw would barely move.


    A wave of fear crashed down upon him. Had they not been speaking all that time? Had he not seen her? Had they not climbed rocks and ventured tunnels in the dim light of her being? Had they not been in full view of one another?


    She grabbed his arm and steadied him, pulled him lower so that he stared at her in horror.


    ¡°We were speaking with our inner voices,¡± she said physically, in a voice he didn''t recognize. ¡°We were seeing with our inner eye. Yes, I am a child. I''m sorry that I couldn''t show you that. You''d never have come back with me if you''d known.¡±


    ¡°A child?¡± he said. ¡°So what?! Look at me!¡± he said, feeling at his face with his fingers, tracing every deformity, hiding it from her expressionless gaze.


    ¡°I had to hide this from you,¡± she said. ¡°I can make you feel whole again if you want. You''ll forget it, the truth. I promise.¡±


    ¡°Why did you ever stop?¡± he wept.


    ¡°Because I was distracted,¡± she said. ¡°I''ve never seen anything physical outside of the monastery. I''ve never seen the sky, or felt the wind, or shielded my gaze from the sun. I''ve been a rat in a hole, alone in the cold, for nine years. You understand.¡±


    He cried a pitiful cry of agony from his twisted and gnarled mouth. ¡°Why didn''t you fix me like you said?¡± he asked. ¡°Did you not say you could fix me?¡±


    She shook her head, staring distantly at the oceanic horizon. It seemed to go on forever. Endlessly west. ¡°I couldn''t,¡± she said. ¡°Not wholly,¡± she admitted. ¡°I tried; I swear I did.¡±


    ¡°You tricked me,¡± he groaned inside.


    She closed her eyes. ¡°It''s true. I did. I won''t trick you anymore. You look like a walking dead man. You do. You really do.¡±


    ¡°Show me,¡± he said.


    She looked at him and he looked back at her. She implanted within his thoughts an accurate depiction of his physical body as seen through her physical eyes.


    ¡°I don''t use them to see you,¡± she admitted to him. ¡°I don''t use them much at all. I live on the edge of two worlds, and the inner is so much prettier, even now.¡±


    He ignored her thoughts and fixated on his appearance. His nose was crushed. His mouth was gaped, and his chin was cocked to one side. His naturally tanned skin was milky white, and the vitality within his blue eyes was gone, a fade to a dark, dull gray. Despite his bodily strength, he could barely move a muscle in his face, and the result was a fixed expression of deathly horror, truly hideous to behold.


    ¡°I want to die,¡± he cried, ¡°right now. Dammit, I want to die! What did you do to me, you disgusting demon child?!¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°You''re lying. You want to live. Even still, you do.¡±


    ¡°I want to die!¡± he said. ¡°I do, I do, I do!¡±


    ¡°Fine!¡± she yelled. ¡°There is the cliff and there are the rocks,¡± she said, pointing. ¡°Fall. I won''t stop you, and I won''t plead for you on the other side again.¡±


    He looked at her and she was gravely serious, her expression without feeling.


    Shakily, he stared at the cliffside. A breeze rose up just then, salty and clean, running through his hair.


    He looked at her and she stared at him with an unwavering intensity.


    He felt shaky all over. He felt nauseous and suddenly bent over and spewed.


    How could he not force himself to die? How could he be so scared to do so? He was dead just days ago! Dead! Not sleeping, dead!


    She reached up a hand to comfort him and he batted it away before collapsing. He heaved in and out, in sheer panic. He was hideous. Hideous! Ugly, putrid, dead!


    She eased him asleep and cleaned him up, put him into a deep trance in order to share with him a dream that depicted their probable future according to their matching unyielding intent. This was the last time her inner self would allow her outer self to glimpse these things, as this was and always had been its intended moment to separate itself entirely from her conscious awareness. That is, until she was to fulfill her task.


    It let them experience themselves wandering the world, sneaking, at times hiding. It promised them an end begotten fruitlessly according to every earthly measure of riches and glory. Theirs was an uphill battle to fight against forces much greater even than she would become. And he saw that, at best, he could help her very little. He was cursed to live life as a dead man, albeit slightly enhanced by the invasion of alien cells, the very cells that had evicted his personality from his physical body in the first place.


    Satisfied, Agnessa¡¯s higher self turned its focus away from her. They both remembered very little, she little more than he. Little by little, he forgot his bitterness and distrust toward her, and she forgot her wisdom. She became a silly girl, and he became her quiet and reluctant companion. As she grew, she grew little on him. And as she grew, she grew to love him. There was always within him something she sensed as repulsion to her, although she knew not why. She only knew that, should she one day find it within herself to make him beautiful, he might allow himself to notice her beauty too.

 Four: Urumobombo

    With a plop, Windston fell into a torrent of freezing water. Dim light quickly faded into darkness as he struggled to reemerge in what was a rushing river deep underground. The only light came from his sword, which he clung to with an iron grip. In this fashion, he drifted, on and on and on, for hours, desperately reaching here or swimming there in fruitless attempts to grab slippery roots, ledges, or shores as he raced past.


    Eventually, the water slowed, and he found himself in an endless pool beneath faintly growing crystals protruding high from the ceiling overhead. There was still the roar of rushing water, but it was far off now. Here, there was only a light current that drifted endlessly north.


    He bobbed and drank.


    He bobbed and peed.


    After a while, he heard splashing and looked over his shoulder. A ways off behind him, drifting face-up and backwards, was Frem. At least, he hoped it was Frem.


    ¡°Who goes there?¡± he shouted.


    ¡°It''s me, you idiot,¡± Frem said.


    Windston smiled. ¡°Good. But I think we''re screwed.¡±


    ¡°We definitely are,¡± Frem said. ¡°But I don''t know for how long. I might be able to shoot our way out. At least, I feel like I could possibly strike the nerve to try if I get desperate enough.¡±


    The two of them hurried toward one another, Frem backstroking north, Windston free-styling south ¨C which really only slowed his northerly drift.


    Reunited, they faced one another, treading water.


    ¡°That was crazy,¡± Frem said.


    ¡°It was.¡±


    ¡°That green light cut through the ground like it was nothing. You know, I''d kill to be able to shoot something like that out of my hands.¡±


    ¡°Me too,¡± said Windston. ¡°It cut us right into hell.¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Frem said. ¡°Only, no fire, just water.¡±


    ¡°Luckily,¡± Windston said. ¡°And it''s good water, too.¡±


    ¡°Very good,¡± Frem said. ¡°But we can''t live off nothing but water. We''re gonna have to get out of here.¡±


    They paddled first more northward, and then westward when they noticed what looked like a slope of rock along a wall of stone directly west. It was a smooth shore of dusty gray rock, and it stretched out of the mouth of a cave in that western wall.


    ¡°What luck,¡± Frem said.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Windston agreed. ¡°Only, we don''t know where it goes.¡±


    ¡°There''s only one way to find out.¡±


    As it turned out, it went westward, and then upward. It was a perfectly round hole, like one dug out by a perfectly round worm. Its surface was rough on all sides, but not jagged; and it was rigid where ribbed, so that, when going upward, one could grip ledges with his fingers, and kick off other ledges with his feet, which made for a difficult, but manageable, climb.


    The cave did seem to rise directly upward nearly endlessly, however. Despite their fitness, they found themselves ready to be done climbing far sooner than the climb''s end.


    Finally, the cave curved back westward, and went that way for some time until they found themselves in another cavern, this one much smaller than the one before, but also much brighter.


    Dimly glowing crystals of razor sharp spines coned out from the ceilings of this cavern too. In some places, the walls and ceilings were smooth and bare. But mostly, the lighted cones spread out in abundance.


    Also, the ground was smooth and flat. And there were even the remnants of a ladder that dangled from an opening above, and a track that led northward and upward along a rising slope.


    ¡°This was a mine,¡± Frem said.


    Windston nodded. He could see Frem''s face dimly in the light of both his sword and Frem¡¯s hands.


    ¡°That means we might be close to an exit.¡±


    ¡°Or a person,¡± Windston said.


    Just as he mentioned a person, Frem stopped dead in his tracks.


    ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°Shh!¡± Frem shushed. ¡°Can you not hear that?¡±


    There was a brief pause during which Windston stopped breathing and listened. ¡°No,¡± he finally admitted.


    ¡°Are you deaf? There!¡± he said, pointing ahead. ¡°There it is again!¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Windston asked, but Frem was jogging ahead, his hands brighter than before.


    ¡°Hulloo!¡± he shouted. ¡°Can you hear me?¡±


    There was an echo, and then a very distinctly different reply. It was a long and drawn out yelling, a bereaved call of agony and despair.


    ¡°We''re coming!¡± Frem yelled.


    ¡°I been stuck so long!¡± the voice called back very clearly, yet still so far away.


    ¡°We''re here to help!¡± Frem said. ¡°No worries. No-¡±


    He stopped abruptly and held out his arms as to catch Windston, who simply stopped on his own.


    There was a hole in the ground and, far beneath, lit by Frem''s hands, what looked like a head, and only a head. It was dark and sooty, with black hair and a black beard, and it seemed to be growing out from a jutting rock at the bottom of the hole.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡± Frem asked.


    ¡°Are you just a head?¡± Windston added.


    ¡°I am not hurt,¡± the head boomed with an accent thick and foreign. ¡°But not for my pride,¡± he said, ¡°and my empty stomach.¡±


    ¡°We''re hungry too,¡± Frem said.


    ¡°What I wouldn''t give for a bite,¡± the head said. ¡°But I am stuck,¡± he said, wiggling back and forth, squirming and panting. ¡°I am afraid I am too big for this hole.¡±


    ¡°You''re stuck in a hole?¡± Frem asked.


    The head nodded.


    Frem paused, and then he aimed his hands downward and lit them even brighter.


    There, down below, in Frem¡¯s trembling light, was a very dark, very handsome head.


    ¡°If somebody could come down and pull me,¡± the head said. ¡°I might break free.¡±


    ¡°I''ll try,¡± Windston said.


    ¡°Somebody strong. A man. Maybe more than one.¡±


    ¡°Hey, I''m strong,¡± Windston said.


    He jumped down. It was all jagged rock and stones. From there, he could see the neck and shoulders that went with the head, and they were massive. It looked like someone had stuffed a giant in a tiny little hole of sharp rocks. Actually, that was almost the case; the giant had stuffed himself in there from the other way. His shoulders were as round as his head, and his biceps nearly matched the size of either. But the giant was crammed in there so that he couldn''t even free his hands.


    ¡°I''m gonna grab your head,¡± Windston said.


    ¡°Please, yes do,¡± the man begged.


    ¡°And pull,¡± Windston said, pulling.


    ¡°Yes, pull.¡±


    ¡°Are you ready?¡±


    ¡°I am.¡±


    ¡°One. Two. Three.¡± Windston yanked really hard, and the man slid out to the sound of breaking rock and popping bones.


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    He man lay there, almost too huge to stand. His hands were massive, easily big enough to wrap around a man''s skull and crush it in his palms. And his feet were in massive boots that looked more like boxes from certain angles due to their size.


    ¡°Wait!¡± Frem yelled. ¡°I forgot to ask him if he''s gonna try to eat us. Are you gonna try to eat us?¡±


    The man''s face fell suddenly desperate. ¡°No!¡± he yelled. ¡°I would never eat a young girl or boy like you.¡±


    ¡°I''m a boy!¡± Frem yelled.


    ¡°I''m sorry,¡± the man said. ¡°It is difficult to see, and your voice is very high.¡±


    ¡°You''re a giant, aren''t you?¡± Windston asked.


    ¡°No,¡± the man said. ¡°I am giant for a man, yes. But I am no giant. I am a giant hunter. That is, I hunt a giant from the west called Boulder. This is how I find myself here beneath these foreign lands.¡±


    ¡°How do we know you''re not lying?¡± Frem asked.


    ¡°Believe me, and I''ll give you much gold,¡± the man said.


    ¡°Much gold?¡± Frem asked. ¡°How much?¡±


    The man lifted a sack and opened it. Its contents shimmered and sparkled. ¡°Gold and gems I have. But no food, and no light deep beneath the earth under no man''s land.¡±


    ¡°Is there more?¡± Frem asked.


    ¡°There is more that I have left abandoned, but it is many leagues east, I''m afraid. And it is perilous to venture there. I would dare not.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± Frem said. ¡°I''ll lower a rope to my squire to you to fetch you up.¡±


    ¡°Your what?¡± Windston asked.


    Frem chuckled, but he was digging around in the bigger of his two bags, the one he kept the smaller one in, which he kept on his back.


    From within it, he pulled out a cord of rope. ¡°Here,¡± he said, lowering an end down.


    Windston climbed up first in fear that the giant would be too heavy for the rope. He was insanely heavy, but the rope managed. He looked well over five-hundred pounds, closer to six. In fact, he was much heavier than that. The ground was sandy, slippery, treacherous even where it wasn''t altogether wet.


    The boys pulled and tugged, and then they found a taller bit of rock and used it as leverage.


    With time, and a lot of grunting, the man was up at their level.


    But he barely fit.


    He was nearly eight feet tall from heel to head, and stocky. Still, there wasn''t an ounce of fat on him. His muscles were like the rocks all around, and veins bulged from them, even after he had caught his breath and relaxed.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he said, gripping his hands together. ¡°You have saved me, perhaps.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps?¡± Frem asked.


    ¡°Yes,¡± the man said. ¡°We are still beneath the ground. We may yet die.¡±


    ¡°We won''t,¡± Windston said. ¡°I just know it.¡±


    ¡°I hope this is true,¡± the man said. ¡°Here,¡± he said, holding out a massive hand with fingers as big around as the bottom of a drinking glass. ¡°I am Urumobombo of the grasslands far east beyond the desert wilds. Saria, it is called. And Bombo, you can call me. I am at your service.¡±


    ¡°Windston,¡± Windston said. ¡°I''m from Zephyr. And this is Frem.¡±


    ¡°I''m a dragoon,¡± Frem said, ¡°from east and north of that same desert east.¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± the man said. ¡°I have heard of these dragon-folk. But they are like faeries, and goblins, and other gobbly-gook,¡± he chuckled.


    Frem scowled. ¡°And I''ve heard of the black men south of my land who live in caves and drink camel piss.¡±


    Bombo laughed. ¡°Caves? No. Huts, maybe. Nomads, maybe. Spare few. My people are proud and well-tempered. We live in white sandstone cities with gold-topped towers of white stone. Our furniture is ivory and ebony, and our feather beds are fitted with silk sheets and velvet blankets. We drink the finest wine and the clearest water.¡±


    Frem scoffed at that. ¡°That''s not what I''ve heard.¡±


    ¡°Then listen again. Or don''t at all. It is no matter to me. Fine, I am this caveman,¡± he laughed. ¡°For aren''t we all here in caves now? But heed my words on this matter: whether I fight for those in caves who drink piss or not, I seek to kill a giant man by the name of Boulder. If he is your ally, you will be smashed. This, I promise. This, you can believe.¡±


    Windston smiled. ¡°Or maybe we''ll throw you back in the hole.¡±


    Bombo laughed louder. ¡°Maybe. Two boys might try. But hey: this is crazy how you lift me out. I am so heavy. And you are so small,¡± he said, looking at their arms.


    ¡°We''re super kids,¡± Windston started to say, but Frem hit him lightly in the chest and gestured for the two of them to follow him.


    They did follow him, Windston at a relaxed pace, Bombo ducking here and crawling there.


    They continued on for about five-hundred yards, and then the two saw what it was Frem had been heading toward.


    There was a shaft of light that shone downward at an angle through a triangular gash in the rocky wall.


    Through the light, they winced upward and, to their relief, saw a climb leading to what was very much an exit. It led to an opening even Bombo could fit through, on a ledge over Rat Road, Old Rat Road.


    ¡°This is good news,¡± Bombo said, emerging into the light.


    The two boys, who were on either side of him, craned their necks to look up at him. He was a marvel at his full height. He was all of eight feet tall in those monstrous boots, and massive all over. His pants were torn up to the knees, and his shirt was a ripped vest. The boots he wore were leather, and his wrists were clasped in gold bracelets. He stood tall with a straight back, and his chin he held high as he admired the landscape stretched all about. ¡°Flowers and flowers and flowers ¨C no leaves,¡± he said. ¡°This is good. This is where I mean to be.¡±


    ¡°Bombo,¡± Windston said.


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Are you as strong as you look?¡±


    Bombo chuckled a quick breath through his nose. ¡°Are the clouds gray? Is the rain wet? Are lions proud?¡± He flexed his chest, his muscles bouncing up again and again.


    Windston considered this question for a moment. ¡°I think so,¡± he said. ¡°But I don''t really know about lions.¡±


    ¡°They''re proud,¡± Frem said, suddenly bored. ¡°They''re like... pointless dragons, I guess. Big kitty cats with hairstyles.¡±


    Bombo laughed until his eyes welled. ¡°You have a mouth, little blue boy.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Windston said, ¡°I might not look like it, but I bet I''m stronger than you.¡±


    ¡°Do you think so?¡± Bombo asked.


    Windston nodded.


    ¡°You don''t look very strong to me,¡± Bombo said, considering. ¡°But some people who are strong do not look this way.¡±


    ¡°He''s strong,¡± said Frem. ¡°Even stronger than me. And I''m strong. Probably stronger than you.¡±


    Bombo laughed again. ¡°I was a boy once too, and I was strong. Only now...¡± He paused, staring at a tree down to their left, at the end of a slope that dropped to ground more or less level with Rat Road. ¡°I am maybe stronger. Let us see.¡±


    He lumbered down the slope, slowly, carefully, as if his body ached, most especially his feet.


    At the edge of the woods, he stood beside a medium sized tree. It was taller than him, of course, and almost as broad at the base of its trunk.


    ¡°This is a big tree to pull, no?¡± He called back to the boys, who stood at the cave face, watching through the rain.


    Windston nodded. His heart was racing. He couldn''t wait to see what Bombo was going to do.


    ¡°But watch this,¡± Bombo said, turning and facing the tree, looking it first up, then down. ¡°I grab it,¡± he said, wrapping his massive arms around the trunk and clasping them at the wrists. ¡°I squat,¡± he said. And then he groaned, and groaned, and groaned as he pulled, and stood, and pushed. The tree, a towering oak, rose upward, and then came crashing down onto Bombo¡¯s massive shoulder. He turned, the whole tree swiveling with him, and showed the boys his white tree with blue flowers and muddy, earthy, twisted roots.


    ¡°You see, boys,¡± he said, chuckling. ¡°Bombo is so strong.¡± He dropped the tree and tapped it, muttering, ¡°We plant you back after a break.¡±


    The boys both raced down the slope after Bombo, hopping and skipping. They examined the tree, which he presently used as a makeshift bench, to make sure there was no funny business.


    ¡°That is pretty strong,¡± Windston admitted.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Bombo said. ¡°Strong,¡± he said, nodding. ¡°Are you this strong?¡±


    ¡°Stronger!¡± Windston yelled suddenly, his face to the sky, his arms pulled back, his body tensed. He leapt from the grassy ground and smashed head-first into a nearby pine tree with bright yellow needles. It splintered and doubled over, cracking and whining as it fell, and lay beside the remainder of its trunk, which still stood twelve feet up.


    ¡°No, no, no!¡± Bombo protested, standing. ¡°Not breaking trees!¡± he said.


    Frem laughed. ¡°Oh yeah?¡± he said, leaping up into the air and readying an attack.


    Just as quickly as he rose, he plummeted; Bombo had leapt after him and grabbed his ankle.


    Frem grimaced and looked down at Bombo, confused.


    ¡°We''re not shooting trees today,¡± Bombo warned before letting go.


    Frem fell at Bombo¡¯s side. By the time Windston got to him to check up on him, Frem was sucking up air between his teeth, which made a hiss.


    Windston laughed.


    ¡°It''s not funny,¡± Frem said. ¡°I could feel the bones in my ankles touching!¡±


    Windston laughed again.


    Bombo frowned. ¡°Maybe I squeeze too hard,¡± he said.


    ¡°Maybe?¡± Frem asked.


    ¡°Do it to me,¡± Windston said, holding out his arm to Bombo.


    ¡°No,¡± Bombo said. ¡°Wait,¡± he said. He turned and scratched his head, looking at the tree he had plucked, which lay defeated on its side. There, he stood, simply staring.


    ¡°I maybe make a mistake,¡± he finally said.


    ¡°What?¡± Windston asked. Frem didn''t care; his back was turned to both of them.


    ¡°I maybe need help to lift this poor baby upright again. Because, you see, I can lift with a squat when it stands. But maybe I cannot pull it back up as it lay.¡±


    ¡°I''ll help,¡± Windston said.


    ¡°Good,¡± Bombo said, smiling. ¡°This is good. Let us try,¡± he said.


    But before Windston could even figure out where to lift, Bombo had stood the tree upright. He presently swiveled it left and right, and it sunk lower and lower into the ground until all the roots were buried.


    ¡°There, isn''t that-¡±


    Before he could finish, there was a loud explosion. Both Windston and Bombo cowered as the tree exploded in bits in what was a flaming mess of Frem''s rage.


    Frem laughed.


    And laughed.


    And laughed.


    When he was finished, he glared menacingly at Bombo, his lips parted in a challenging smirk. Bombo stared back for a moment. And then he did the unthinkable.


    In a flash, he leapt forward, snatched Frem by the waist in his left hand, and spanked his butt with his right.


    Over.


    And over.


    And over again.


    Frem cried out in pain while Windston watched, teeth gritted, eyes wide, unsure of what to do.


    When the beating was over, Bombo dropped Frem and leapt backward, where he stood ready.


    But Frem didn''t attack. In fact, he only sat. He sat there, fuming, staring, while Windston laughed and laughed and laughed.


    Bombo laughed too. And then Frem did as well, but only just a little bit. When he stood, eyes teary, he wiped his nose with his fist, and then released all hell. Bombo and Windston ran away as fast as they could, eyes wide with horror as the forest exploded behind them to the cackles of Frem''s psychotic laugh.


    The chase lasted nearly an hour. When it was over, the three of them made peace at a spring, where they swam in their clothes to rid themselves of mud.


    Soot fell. The forest roared a raging flame where they''d been. But no one cared. They were all alive, soothing themselves in a cold spring, thinking to themselves what it was they would do next.


    After their bath, they headed north. They continued just off the road, down a clear walking path that more or less hopped from pool to pool, stream to stream.


    By nightfall, they had found a deserted barn to crash in. It was dry, and a bit of hay they found inside was soft. More importantly, though, was that it was away from the road, and there weren''t a bunch of man-eating worms around.


    In fact, there weren''t a bunch of man-eating anythings around. There weren''t even any men aside from Bombo. The road was deserted as far north as they could walk in a week, but they didn''t know that yet. They only knew they needed to hide (the boys had told Bombo all about their day before their excursion), and they needed a nice place to rest.


    The other troubles of what to eat and where to find it could wait till later. In fact, the only concern mentioned, and by Frem, was when Bombo could repay them for his rescue.


    ¡°You showed us your gold,¡± Frem said. ¡°So, let''s have it.¡±


    ¡°Soon.¡±


    ¡°Or maybe now,¡± Frem said.


    ¡°No,¡± Bombo said. ¡°I do not feel right giving boy like you gold. You get, but I buy.¡±


    ¡°Lame,¡± Frem said.


    Windston didn''t say anything. Actually, unlike Frem, he liked having Bombo around. He was really fast and really strong, just like them. No, he wasn''t a kid. But he was definitely super. And maybe he would level out some of Frem''s crazy?