Fungus of the Heart (11 page)

“Why would he want to keep this quiet?”

“General says his solders have lost enough already. He doesn’t want to build up their hope and then crush it again, if he fails.”

“If he feels that way, then why did he tell you?”

Swan looks as if I insulted his dead fathers. “I’m his best friend.”

“Of course.” I drink some tea, and I taste my bitterness. “Do you know what he’s planning?”

“Not exactly. But I have an inkling it has to do with Number Twelve. We found that Gob dead this morning, and I never saw the General so happy. Like a youngling seeing a Fairy for the first time.”

“I see.”

And I try to remember the first time I saw a Fairy, but that part of my life seems too far away.

I’m a soldier now. A conjurer-in-training.

A Gnome without a name.

*

Instead of visiting the nightworld, I follow myself west. Toward the Farm.

I try to silence my mind, quiet my demons, because they keep telling me to turn back. They’re not trying to protect me, of course. They just want the Goblins to suffer, for killing Feather Thundersoul.

For creating me.

More than once, I almost lose myself in the moonlit dark. But finally, I reach the Line, where the Forest ends, and the Farm begins.

My legs give way, as the looming fortress presses against my spirit.

I can’t move.

And the figure before me removes his hat, his Gnomehood.

He reaches deep in the cloth.

“Feather!” I say. “Stop!”

To my surprise, the Gnome who turns around isn’t me at all.

It’s General Torrent.

And suddenly, I remember why I’m here.

“Don’t do this, sir,” I say.

The General grins, and says, “Don’t save our kinfolk from mass murder?”

“Yeah.”

“And why not?”

“Because this isn’t right.”

“Right?” The General laughs. “War is never right, Escapist. You of all people should understand that.”

I stand on shaky legs. “Swan told me what the Goblins did to your Love, sir. I know you want revenge, but this is too much.”

“I appreciate your empathy. However, I am not the Gnome you think me to be. My actions are borne from compassion for our people.”

“Don’t give me that, General. I know how much you hate the enemy, because our hearts are the same. There’s a reason you kept Number Twelve in the same hut as your laboratory.”

“I was utilizing space.”

“You wanted him to watch as you created the disease that would annihilate his kind. You took pleasure in his torment.”

General Torrent sighs. “I only want to save our world, child. Surely you must see the good in that.”

“What if the disease spreads to other creatures?”

“That won’t happen. My greatest thinker developed the illness with me. The Flower Curse can be carried by any mammalian, but Drum assures me that only Goblins will be affected.”

“Drum is a Thundersoul, sir. She’s a creative woman, but the Gnomes of my clan have a difficult time foreseeing the full spectrum of consequences of our actions. I’m sure she doesn’t want to believe that the disease she created could kill all of Gnomekind, and so she won’t let herself believe.”

“I appreciate your concern, but I assure you. I’ve thought this through. There is no other way.”

At this point, I realize the General’s had this entire conversation with himself already.

He hid his plan from the Army, because he knows there are soldiers who’d try to stop him.

He knows the disease could spread.

He knows all the Gnomes and beings of the Forest could die.

And maybe, deep down, he doesn’t care.

Before I can say another word, General Torrent pulls a mouse out of his hat, and tosses her on the ground.

I run.

I catch the mouse.

And the General says, “You know I won’t let you take her.”

“I know,” I say.

“If you really want to stand by your convictions, you’ll have to kill me. Otherwise, I stop at nothing to release the plague.”

My whole body trembles. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Of course you don’t. And my heart breaks at the thought of harming you. But this is war. Perhaps now you understand what that means.”

“Promise me that you’ll abandon your plan, and I’ll let you go.”

The General chuckles. “You’re not going to defeat me, child. You’re not the hero we pretend you are. You escaped the Farm on a fluke.”

“I know. But I can’t let you do this.”

“Well then. Are you ready?”

“No.” I set my hat on the earth, and place the mouse inside. Then I place a stone on the opening to keep the creature trapped inside.

“Are you ready now?”

I shake my head. I feel like I’m back at the Farm, naked and alone.

The General races toward me.

And we fight.

I see smears of blood, blurry faces. Sometimes I’m the General. Sometimes I’m the soldier.

Nothing makes sense anymore.

Maybe I’m saving my own people from possible extinction.

But more than that, I’m saving the Goblins.

I’m becoming the enemy.

My inner demons scream at me, and tell me there’s still time to end this madness. To beg for forgiveness. To stop thinking so much about what’s right.

But I can’t stop.

I won’t.

And while I’m no warrior, I do know something about causing pain.

I learned from the best.

So I do to the General what was done to me. And my spirit’s back in my cage. Curled up on the floor. Begging for mercy.

But I show none.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

And soon, the General stops struggling.

I didn’t think I was capable of murdering one of my own kind, but maybe torture can do that to a person.

Maybe my compassion can only be expressed as cruelty.

After a bout of vomiting, I dig a hole to bury the General. I dig so deep that I almost can’t climb out.

“Goodbye, sir,” I say, and start walking away from the grave.

Then I remember the mouse.

I retrieve my hat, and lift the creature by the tail.

If I released her anywhere near the Farm, the Goblins would eat her, or they’d consume what consumed her. And they’d get infected and die. And since Goblins leave their dead out to rot, the flowers on their skin would blossom, and the pollen would spread. And that would mean the end.

So I need to remove this mouse from the food cycle.

I could kill her, of course. Dispose of her body so that no mammalian could eat her.

But the thought makes me vomit again.

I’ll return to the hutment, and burn Number Twelve’s corpse before the flowers have time to bloom. But then I’m done being a soldier.

I’m done with this war.

I still don’t want to go home, so I’ll journey south instead. I’ll face the dangers of the Forest, and I’ll protect this mouse to my last breath. I’ll take her to the Fairies, and they won’t let anything eat her, and she’ll live the life I can’t.

Obviously, they’ll have to destroy her, if she starts flowering. But at least I can give her a chance.

And as I hold this small creature close to my heart, I feel like Feather Thundersoul again.

And the sensation only lasts a moment.

But that’s long enough.

Ula Morales

I may look like your ordinary 10-year-old girl with antlers, but I’m actually rather special. I’m a Guardian of the Forest, and my mom was a very wise, very angry tree named Oak Mother.

She was a beautiful tree, especially in her old age, and her roots stretched all over the world. Into buildings, into people. Even into ideas.

For a while, my mom tried her hand at being a superhero. She used her roots to suck the life out of corrupt politicians, and rapists, and serial killers. But she soon discovered that the more evil she destroyed, the more evil she created.

And so, she realized that only a human could solve the human problem.

That’s why my mother stole some hair from an old dying woman named Ula Morales. And that’s how I got my name and most of my DNA.

Still, I am who I am today not because of my genetics, but because of my real mother.

Mother Oak was the one who loved me. Sheltered me. Fed me.

I was a hungry baby.

Every day, Mother Oak imbued every drop of sap I swallowed with love and loathing and knowledge and power. I devoured mind after mind of scientist and kung fu master and revolutionary, and I always wanted more.

Eventually, my mother gave me everything she had to give.

And as the last of her spirit leaked from her body, she said, “Promise me that you’ll leave this forest. Promise me that you’ll save the world.”

So I stood tall, and said, “I promise.”

In other words, I lied.

And she died.

She died, never knowing that she failed to create a savior.

Sure, I’m haunted by an unbearable desire to save the world, but even more than that, I’m afraid of leaving my forest.

I’m a coward.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not afraid of humans. What I fear is humanity.

I fear losing myself in their jingles and distractions. Their prejudices. Their rationalizations. I may be stronger than every other human on this planet, but I’m still one of them.

I’m still a frightened little girl, desperate for love.

But I shouldn’t complain too much. I have a few friends in the forest.

My best friend’s name is Never the Moss Fairy. The only problem with our relationship is that we can’t stand each other.

For instance, yesterday in my tree hut, I spent two hours fuming about overfishing, and Never responded by saying, “I don’t believe in oceans.”

“How can you not believe in oceans?” I said.

“I’ve never seen any oceans.”

“You’ve never seen oxygen either. Do you believe in oxygen?”

“Not really.”

Our conversations always end in a brawl, and my physical strength can’t compare to a Moss Fairy’s magick, so I always walk away with scrapes and bruises and burnt hair. As for Never, he can’t feel physical pain, so I try to hurt him in other ways. I tease him. Call him names. He usually ends up crying his eyes out.

But it’s not all blood and tears. We do get along when we’re sleeping. Never makes an excellent pillow, and I make an excellent nightmare-slayer. Sleeping so close together, our dreams often coalesce. So I protect Never from the flame beasts whenever I can.

During my waking hours, I’m usually alone.

Most of the forest animals avoid me because they fear me, and most of the forest spirits avoid me because I’m too depressing.

Sometimes, at night, Never travels to the homes of grieving parents and he leeches from them the memories of their dead children. Then, he gives me these memories to play with.

I get along well with these children, probably because they’re not alive. But they don’t last long. Memories never do.

Sometimes I fantasize about meeting another child like me in the forest. A girl with antlers. A girl who knows more about the world than she should. A girl who needs me as much as I need her.

But this fantasy girl never enters my forest. Instead, I get hunters like this one. And instead of embracing a kindred spirit, I have to fight an enemy.

So I fall from the sky and block the man’s path.

“You look younger than I expected,” the man says.

“I am younger than you expected,” I say. “I’m ten years old.”

He laughs. “A ten-year-old god. Right.”

“I’m just a little girl.”

He points his weapon at my face. “Then this should be easy.”

“If you don’t leave right now, I’m going to have to kill you.”

That’s not true exactly. I could let him live, but I’m no god. I’m a twisted child who wants to destroy this man, because I need someone to blame.

After the kill, I toss the hunter as far as I can. I don’t want him becoming part of my forest. Part of me.

On the way back to my tree hut, I cry for the hunter’s daughter. I imagine her with my face, and when she learns of her father’s death, she screams with all her power, and the whole world shatters.

Eventually, my tears dry, and Never climbs into my hut.

“I found you a magic circle,” he says.

“It’s a CD.”

“It doesn’t smell like a seed.”

“CD. Compact disc. You go to the human world all the time. How can you not know what this is?” Of course, I already know the answer to that question. Never is a master at ignoring anything and everything that doesn’t interest him.

“Are you going to thank me for the present or aren’t you?”

“Thank you.”

“Goodbye.”

“Wait. Where did you find this?”

“In your mom’s rotting corpse.”

“Why would you say that, Never?”

“Because it’s true.”

“Oh.”

Never leaves me alone with the CD, and I can smell my mother. For some reason, she kept this human object inside her. I need to know why.

So I touch the CD to my heart, and I listen.

And while the strange sounds ravage my mind’s ear, I connect with the soul of every human who ever listened to this object. And unlike most of the humans I deal with, these souls see me for who I really am. And they fear me.

I suppose these humans are the reason my mother decided to spread out her roots and touch the world. She felt sorry for these people.

Of course, I feel sorry for them too.

I just can’t let that stop me.

I’ve never connected with anyone before, spirit to spirit. And I can’t pass up this opportunity.

So I press the CD close to my heart, and I saturate the souls with my mother’s sap, and I listen to them scream.

I don’t empty myself completely.

Just enough.

Of course, I have no idea what these people will do with the love and the loathing and the knowledge and the power I’ve given them.

But at this point, I don’t really care.

Spider House

I tell Roan that I’m heading to the supermarket for some peanut butter cup ice cream, but instead, I will myself to the barrens where I summon skeletons and command them to act out my past.

And so they do.

Years ago, during the real battles with real human beings, I would hide in my tent and drink tea. I would let my subconscious self handle the magic that protected my soldiers. And I would distract my conscious self with music or books.