Walking through the market was one of the best ways for Scorpan to relax. The merchants peddling their wares, negotiations for products, even the screams of an obnoxious child told him Sumaria had become a home to all of them. Eighteen months had passed since they had set foot in Ur, but, in many ways, it was no different than simply moving to another city.
He had no more trouble from Celestia, and Nightmare was a good friend of his. She stopped by Sumaria every several weeks and he got the impression she wanted come by more often. She didn’t talk about her time away and she seemed rather lonely when he visited her in Everfree Castle. As Governor, or Prince as most still called him, Scorpan dealt with foreign relations. However, their neighbors didn’t want much to do with Sumaria. Most of the time.
The crowd around him was getting excited about something. Turning around a bend, he saw a grey-and-white griffon poking a slab of pork hanging at a meat stall. The owner was not pleased.
“You gonna pay for that?” he snapped.
“I’m not paying you.” The griffon walked when Scorpan heard a rough voice call his name.
“You the Prince here? I’m talking to you.”
Turning around, Scorpan took a step back when he was eye-to-eye with another griffon. This one was grey and gold. “Y-yes, I am. Who are you?”
“Name’s Bey.” He was wearing an iron chestplate and carried a dagger in a sheath tied around his front claw. Though he stood the same height as Scorpan, he was still an intimidating sight. Biting down on an apple, he said, “Here to make you an offer. I hear you have someone stealing cattle?”
Scorpan held eye contact as he replied, “Some… people have reported losing breeding cows and pigs. It’s nothing the farmers can’t handle themselves.”
“We can handle it,” Bey said before popping the remains of the apple into his mouth. “Give us a few days an’ no one’s losing any more livestock.”
“Are you mercenaries or organized crime? I don’t care much for either.”
“Call us entrepreneurs. The Grundels didn’t care much for us either.”
Looking him straight in the eye, Scorpan told him what he thought when such a sacred Sumarian word was misused. “Leave my city. I didn’t put up with Celestia, and I won’t put with you. Go.”
Bey tilted his head as he asked, “What do you mean you didn’t put up with Celestia?”
“She tried to extort us too. We will never pay her a mite. And you’re not getting any more than her.”
“You don’t pay tribute to Celestia?” He grabbed what looked like a dead mouse from a pouch around his neck. “That what you’re saying?”
“No. We don’t.”
“I heard rumors you didn’t; now I know. I can now respect that, IF you keep this up. You win. We’ll leave you alone. And remember my gang. ‘If it ain’t broke, we’ll break it.’”
“Right. What was that you said about the Grundels?”
“This is Grundel Land. You must know what happened to the Grundels.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Oh really? Haha. You’ll see.” He had an edge to his voice, making Scorpan worried.
“If you know, you can tell me.”
“Look man, I only heard things. You wanna know for yourself, go see the Muchick.”
“I’ve heard of him. Where can I find him? What exactly is he?”
Bey took Scorpan in his wings and pointed north. “He lives in the Mushrump, a magical grove of mushrooms. He knows a great deal of magic. He’s brilliant, that’s what he is. And quite mad.”
Pulling himself out of Bey’s wing, Scorpan turned and thanked the griffon for his directions. “But what happened to the Grundels?”
“They’re dead. That’s all I know for sure. We would swing by and swipe a few off the ground. Easy prey. Thank your stars you’re too big for that.”
Bey was at ease discussing taking Grundels away to eat, but Scorpan supposed it was no different to him as hunting a deer. Hmm… He would have to speak to the Muchick and see what happened to the Grundels.
** ** **
The tallest mushrooms stalks Scorpan had ever seen sank into the ground as they came into his view. Behind them lay a grove of mushrooms as Bey had said, and there was actually a house sitting on a hill in the dead center. The sun of late morning glimmered overhead and he tried not to step on anything--a fruitless task, seeing that the grass itself was actually green fungus. Scorpan liked mushrooms too, but on his plate. Those that grew wild could be poisonous and that made him afraid to breathe in spores. It was a silly fear, really.
“Mr. Muchick! Mr. Muchick? I’m sorry to trespass, but I must speak with you. I come bearing gifts.” In the sack he slung over his shoulder he brought two glass Spy-Orbs. Looking into one would show the surroundings of the other. It was a favorite tool for spies, thieves, and sentinels of all kinds back in Ur.
A rabbit standing in its hind legs and wearing suspenders on his trousers was waving him over and tugging on the cap of a particularly large mushroom. Stepping closer, Scorpan asked, “I’m looking for the Muchick. Are you him?”
The mushrooms turned around and it was, in fact, a man, or dwarf, or elf. What he took to be the cap was the Muchick’s enormous yellow hat, with his ears poking out through the top. His voice was cordial and inviting.
“Well, hello! Don’t just stand there! Come in! Come in. I have exactly what you’re looking for!” The tiny man danced off towards his home and walked through the door like a mist before opening it to Scorpan.
Sighing to himself, he remembered the griffon saying the Muchick was mad. “How do you know what I’m looking for?”
“You, my good sir, are looking for some tea. And here you are!” The Muchick pressed a carved piece of wood shaped like the letter “T” into his hands and went to wave his wand at a kettle on the stove.
Rolling his eyes, Scorpan took a seat at the table. “Actually, I wanted to ask you about the Grundels. See, I heard they--“
The Muchick interrupted him. “Oh come, come, come. Now’s not the time for such talk. Let us speak of good things. What did you say your name was? Harold? Manticore?”
“My name is Scorpan. And I--“ He was cut off by the kettle whistling. After a few seconds? How efficient.
“Yes, yes. I know who you are. You’re the Prince of Sumaria. Now, to what do I owe this visit? Ah, you are here to try to buy my land? Are you here to ask me to bring more people from your homeland here?”
“No. I heard you know what happened to the Grundels. I spoke to a griffon--“ A cup of tea was thrust into his hands while the Muchick laid out sugar and butter. Butter?! I’m already getting tired of this.
“Ah yes. The Wise and Mighty Griffons. They know a great deal about gossip. They--“
“They said you know what happened to the Grundels.” Scorpan stopped himself from shouting.
“Ah yes. The Grundels died off. A few days before your people first arrived. Lucky for them.” The Muchick didn’t seem bothered by Scorpan’s outburst and finally sat in his chair. Taking his tea in his chubby hand, he sipped it and continued, “If they saw the Smooze, you never would have come to this land. It’s frightfully dangerous. More so than you can imagine.”
“I’m sorry... Smooze? And what do you mean dangerous? I studied this world for weeks before moving here, and months since then. It doesn’t seem any worse than Ur,” Scorpan reasoned.
“You don’t know many of your neighbors, do you? I’m not surprised. You look like the Witches and live right where the Grundels were Smoozed. Everyone either thinks you’re just like the Witches or will die anyway. And it’s not my place to tell you about Smooze. Not at all. I think I have a map…”
He pulled off his hat, revealing human ears on his head, instead of the pointed ears of an elf that poked through his hat. Scorpan face-palmed while the Muchick dug through what sounded like a trunk full of materials hidden under his cap.
“Let’s see, is this it?” He pulled out a pocket watch, followed by a red heart-shaped locket, a roll of blank paper, and an orange tea kettle before saying, “Ah, here it is!”
He lay down a map titled “The Valley of Dreams” and pointed to the northwest corner. It was marked, “Flutter Valley--Home of the Flutterponies.”
“They can tell you about the Smooze. And the Witches. And much more! If you hurry, you can make it through the Forest while the dendroids sleep. They’re nocturnal, and quite vicious against outsiders, especially when they wake up. Now, off you go!”
He shooed Scorpan out of his chair and towards the door. Grateful to soon be away from the Muchick’s tomfoolery, he still had questions. “But, who are the Flutterponies? How do they fit in with the Grundels? What the hell is Smooze?”
“All in good time. Now hurry, hurry, hurry! The dendroids won’t sleep for long!” The Muchick slammed the door behind him.
Looking at the map and his surroundings, Scorpan pondered, Maybe he knew what I wanted all along. He seemed far too mad for anything besides brilliance as well.
** ** **
He sincerely hoped the dendroids were not the trees around him. Many of them had faces carved into the bark and sounded like they breathed through their face. The Wilds of Avlee were said to have beings like this, but they were peaceful, wise, and rarely spoke to humans. Only in the darkest of days in legends did they actively move, and then they waged war like a force of nature.
Turning the bend, Scorpan saw the end of the trail, where the dirt footpath turned into fertile grassland. Stepping from under the canopy, his breath was taken away. Snow-capped mountains in the background with diverse, lush full forests branching out from their base and a garden of beautiful, possibly unique flowers growing before them loomed before him.
The gardens were the defining feature of the Valley, covering whole square kilometers of land. Growing every kind of grass, from crabgrass to bamboo, Scorpan recognized Chocolate Cosmos, Jade Vine, and Koki’o, three flowers that were extinct back home. Colored lanterns hung from everywhere, but were made from wood instead of glass. Those must have been the homes of the Flutterponies.
No, this Valley was their home. The Lanterns were where they slept—just shelter, where they got out of the rain. The Flutterponies lived collectively in the gardens and slept in their individual homes.
He sighed again at the thought of the neighbors his people had so little in common with and strolled down the unkempt stone path leading from the forest. The Flutterponies buzzed around, their wings looking as delicate as a butterfly’s. Yet, they held up the same body structure as all the ponies he had come across so far.
Oh, what kind of magic holds them during flight? he wondered. Firefly had not known when he asked her, but maybe the Flutterponies did. Weeds grew in the narrow crack between the rocks under his feet. His eyes combed around, waiting for the Flutterponies to notice him. They did.
A gong sounded in the distance breaking the silence. A dozen Flutterponies converged on and surrounded him, one even floating behind him blocking his escape back into the forest. A grey one with an auburn mane spoke to Scorpan.
“You must leave. This is not your place and no one invited you. Please go.” Her voice was soft but commanding. She left no room for augment.
“Please don’t. I need your help. My people are in trouble.” He held out in hands in desperation. Only now did he realize how worried he was for Sumaria.
“We tried to help others before, and only disaster followed. We won’t make that mistake twice. It’s for your own good. Solve whatever it is yourself.”
“But I don’t know what’s going on! I don’t know what the Smooze is; I don’t know where it comes from or how to stop it.” He took a deep breath and tried to tell his story calmly. “I was told my people live in what was Grundeland, and that they were killed off by the Smooze. I don’t know anything about the Smooze, but I was told to ask you. So, what happened to the Grundels?”
From the mention of Smooze, every Flutterpony bowed their head and avoided eye contact with him. The one behind him blocking his path into the forest, a yellow pony with a pink mane, spoke to him next.
“Scorpan, do not go back into the forest.” Craning his neck around to look at her, he wondered how she knew his name. “The dendroids will awaken soon and will not take kindly to your presence. They fear Ax-Wielders, and will treat you as such. You will stay with us tonight, in my library, and I will answer any question you have. Climb on my back.”
Touching down behind him, she lowered her wings, giving him a place to saddle up. Climbing onto her, he felt her struggle to hold herself up with his weight, but she had no trouble with him at all in flight.
She soared over the lanterns and gardens, no more than twenty meters. He didn’t see any building big enough for a library, unless it was underground or the lanterns were much bigger than they looked. A building decorated with marble and bronze was hidden by a cluster of trees, and Scorpan did not even notice it until they were gliding down to a balcony on the third floor.
It was indeed a library. Inside were four floors of bookshelves, large, darkening windows as the sun set, and tables for study work. She led him to a private corner in what could have passed for the basement.
Nothing in this Valley was as it seemed; his jaw nearly fell from his mouth when she lifted a cylinder of some liquid off a table, shook it, and light spilled from it. She asked him to “light up” three other cylinders scattered on the shelves. When the area was well-lit, the pony laid a bowl of fruit on the table they sat at and introduced herself.
“My name is Queen Rosedust, Steward of the Flutterponies. Anya was right. This is our home, and you were trespassing. You wish to know of the Smooze and the fate of the Grundels, but we wish to be left alone. It is because of the Smooze and what happened to the Grundels that we want nothing to do with the outside world. We made a tragic error in judgment and we came to believe xenophobia was a… an acceptable alternative to repeating what happened. Please understand, we hide here out of shame.” She spoke solemnly, not meeting his eyes.
“I understand shame, Queen Rosedust. I will withhold judging you until you have had your say.” He matched her tone before she shook her head.
“No, judge me however and whenever you wish. It did matter to me once. Not anymore.” She took a deep breath and began again, still not meeting his eye.
“It started many years ago when a family of witches took up residence on the Volcano of Gloom. They were skilled in ways of magic and science. We sought each other out to learn from one another. Trades were made. Among them, everything one of our scientists had worked on imparting life into the inanimate. They taught us a great deal, and we taught them the same. We exchanged goods and were prosperous. But that all changed when the Smooze struck Grundeland.”
Rosedust sighed deeply. “A scientist named Whittaker once asked, ‘What makes life alive?’ He spent his whole life studying. Much of our knowledge of nutrition, health, microscopic life, and even life before birth comes from his work. He tried to build cells from amino acids and even tried to resurrect the dead. His success is questioned to this day, but he gleaned knowledge even from such morally questionable acts. His amino acid experiments led him to another idea, and he managed to create life in an object that by no means had any right to be alive.
“It did not process energy. It had no known way to move. It was sentient and spoke, but had no brain. It was an ever-expanding mass, but where it got it material is a mystery. It did react to its environment, but not in any predictable way. Smooze was an abomination to life itself.”
“So, what was the Smooze exactly?” Scorpan asked, fearing he already had the best answer he would get.
“We could never define it as one thing or another. It frightened and intrigued us. Whittaker said it would be the ultimate survivor if it was let loose, but he kept it under lock and key. It never left his lab, and he destroyed every sample he made. We… thought the Witches could unlock mysteries of the Smooze if we let them look at it, and they were excited to do so.
“Four years ago, a Flutterpony rang the gong and announced he had seen a purple and grey mass engulfing Grundeland. Everyone had flown out to help, but when we arrived, it was too late. The Grundels were gone, crushed by the mass, which had hardened into stone in the time it took us to get there. That mass was the Smooze. Our wings produce a powder that can corrode the Smooze as if it were an acid on skin. We tried to dig out any survivors. We found many, many bodies. It took days to clear all the Smooze away and we back tracked it to the Volcano of Gloom.
“We asked them what could have happened and Patriarch Thornwood laughed. He LAUGHED at their deaths. He explained that they had indeed learned about the mysteries of the Smooze and had ‘streamlined’ and ‘empowered’ it. I was there. I saw the joy in his eye as he spoke of its speed--how easy it was to encourage, and the simplicity of producing it. After we left, I vomited my breakfast in mid-flight. I did not eat for a week afterwards.”
Rosedust’s tone had remained calm and serious until she finally looked Scorpan in the eye. She glared at him and venom dripped from her mouth. “His family killed Faust knows how many Grundels, and we gave him the tools to do it. I hated everything! I considered declaring war on them, but we had no causis belli. We let it go. We have not spoken to them since that day, and have no plans to do so. We held a summit and decided to cut ourselves off from the world, and not allow ourselves to be the death of, or even affect the growth of, other species.
“That is what happened. Call us cowards, xenophobes, anything you like, Scorpan.”
He had no words for her. He knew he should say something, though. ”How do you know my name?”
“The Muchick wrote to me, saying you would be coming. You look similar to the Witches, and if we thought one of them had come to our home, they would have died a very painful death. He saved your life today. Then again, he directed you here, so you owe him nothing.”
Picking a bunch of grapes from the bowl of fruit, Scorpan thought about what else he needed to know. “What will happen if the Witches unleash the Smooze on my people?”
“Run. If you can fly, that would be better, but don’t hesitate. Flutterponies are the only ones who can stop the Smooze. If the Witches want you dead, there is little you can do. But don’t kiss their ass. I would avoid them altogether.” She had turned away again and was awkwardly rolling an apple on the table, waiting for him to speak again.
“Where is the Volcano of Gloom? Is it one of the mountains surrounding my home?” An idea started forming in his mind.
“It is directly north of your home. You will pass it before you set foot in Sumaria again.” She seemed to know everything he could want to know. But maybe there were things she did not know for certain.
“What would you do if the Witches left the Valley of Dreams? What if you woke up and heard they were gone?” The gears in his head turned, scheming, plotting, thinking of possibilities and consequences…
Another heavy sigh escaped her lips. She sounded like a boss after a hard day’s work, and being a queen, he knew that’s exactly what she was. “I don’t know, Scorpan. Celebrate, certainly. If they left, it would be a world of weight off my shoulders. But, alas, who would do such a thing?”
She looked him in the eye again, winking as if they were fellow conspirators. “No one has the courage to stand up to them, or even meet them. In such a big and frightening world. Who can blame anyone for xenophobia, really? We might even open ourselves up to trade again.”
“I need to meet them, even if for a few minutes. Can I sleep in here tonight?” His head was full of ideas, but his body would need rest for the journey tomorrow.
“You most certainly can. I will bring a pitcher of water for you now and wake you in the morning. If you need a chamber pot, we have a running water toilet on the second floor.”
She trotted away for his water. He found a soft spot next to a bookshelf. He had a big day when the sun came up.
** ** **
His winced, pulling his palm to his face, a trail of blood already growing from under his ring finger. The small cut ran all the way to his wrist--a reminder to bring gloves along next time. He looked at the stairway he had been scaling for two hours and was discouraged by how far he still had to go. At least it was much less steep for now on.
Scorpan wrapped his hand in a bandage while continuing his hike. This was the Volcano of Gloom. This was where the Witches lived, and this was his last chance to stop the Smooze from killing his own people.
Pressing onward, he tried not to breathe too deep. The air was thick with sulfur, driving him to gag and cough. It was bad at first, but he could live with it after a few hours. What really bothered him was this stairway running almost to the summit. It was carved into the stone, similar to footholds dug into glaciers and icebergs, and if it didn’t stop soon, he was going to climb right into the volcanic cauldron. The geologists from Ur had concluded it had been sleeping for four hundred years based on ash in the soil. They simply had not said which mountain was the volcano.
Hacking up another bad lungful of air, he stumbled to a stop and caught his breath. Queen Rosedust had escorted him to the edge of the forest, eager to send him on his way. He had many more questions, which she gladly answered. Before departing, they exchanged some final words.
“You are free to come visit us any time in Sumaria.”
“You already know my answer, but thank you for the offer.”
“Before I go...” He reached into his duffle bag and pulled out a Spy-Orb. “Please, take it. Feel free to lock it up in your closet if you don’t want me to see anything. I will keep mine in my office.”
“I could not accept a gift and then hide it.” She pawed at the ground.
“I brought it as an intention of Goodwill. Either you take it, or the Witches may find a use for it.”
Her eyes snapped up to his and she had her look of power again. “Don’t you dare let them touch these. I will take it when the last Witch has stopped breathing. Not a moment before.” She pointed to the forest. “You best be on your way. I hope to see you soon.”
The conspiracy he thought he heard in her voice was a certainty now. If only he had the plan. Before picking himself up again, there was a click behind him. Turning to the sound, an unmistakable whoosh of a small rock whizzing past his ear had him turning every direction.
Another rock hit him square in the chest.
“Oof! Cut it out!”
A human child’s hand and face popped out from behind a rock downhill from him, tossing another rock, which he jumped from easily. Another head popped up from behind the same rock and held the child’s arm still. She called out, “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to speak to meet my neighbors. My wife and I just moved in down the street and I’m trying to be friendly.” His tone was indeed friendly, hoping to get a laugh.
The girl stood up and dragged the boy with her to the staircase and walked up to meet him. She had a rounded, pudgy nose with hair black as coal. “I’m Delilah. This is my twin brother, Sussex. Welcome to our mountain. Follow us to our home!”
She pulled her brother’s hand and lead Scorpan up the stairway a little more before leaping onto a rock on the side. She waved her hand and called him over to another path, this one lined with crushed stone.
He was impressed by her pace. She dragged her brother’s hand, but they managed to keep him jogging as best he could with his rucksack slamming into his side every other step. He called out for them to slow down and they waited, just long enough for him to catch up to them. Then, they were back to running. Scorpan was not the most active man, but he would be damned if he couldn’t keep up with a pair of kids.
After half an hour, they led him to a small village built on the mountain side. It could hardly be called a village; there were fewer than fifteen homes. Each was built from stone with a thatched roof. Some had extra rooms built in and all had a different-colored smoke rising from one of three chimneys. Delilah kept waving him over to one house in particular, which was no different from the rest.
“Gran’ pa! We found a friend!” she called out, rushing past the open door.
Scorpan took his shoes off at the door and remained until a man who looked twice as old as him came to shake his hand. His greying beard was as black as Delilah at one point. He held a hookah pipe between his teeth and he wore an off-tan toga. He smelled strongly of smoke and sweat. His beetle-black eyes around his pudgy nose sparkled in recognition.
“You must be Scorpan! Prince of Sumaria! Welcome to my humble abode. Come in, come in, make yourself at home. Clarisse! Get this man some drink! Come have a seat.”
Scorpan was half-pushed away from the doorway through a greeting hall and into what he guessed was the living room. It also smelled of smoke. There was much more decoration inside the home: heavy curtains around the windows, along with couches and sofas arranged in a half-circle around a heavily padded chair with an ottoman. A fireplace held a pyramid of logs but no pokers. Beyond the living room was a dining room. The table held fourteen chairs.
He found himself pushed into the heavily padded chair with his guest taking a seat on a nearby couch. “Now, what brings you to our home? I am Patriach Thornwood. This is my wife, Clarisse. We only serve the best wines to guests. Drink up!”
Thornwood spoke quickly and cordially, taking two glasses from his wife. She was a giantess of a woman, standing a head taller than himself with the same nose and hair of her husband and grandchild. She smiled politely and left them quickly.
“Yes, Thornwood. My name is Scorpan. How do you know me? Have you been to Sumaria?” He had an idea of what he must do and started fishing for information right away.
“No, I have not. But my wife and daughters have, months after you moved in. They tried not to draw attention to themselves, and you made no effort to get to know the neighbors. Ha.”
Thornwood slapped his knee and sipped his wine. “We have not poisoned you. Drink.”
Scorpan had not touched his glass yet and timidly sipped. He did have a weakness for raspberry-fortified wine, so he struggled not to drain his glass right then. “It’s good, thank you. And yes, we have been rather shy. I have meet a few neighbors personally, but we don’t seek them out. And Celestia showed up on our doorstep one day demanding tribute. We did not come here for that, nor do we want trouble from others so we keep to ourselves.”
Thornwood wanted to talk, so Scorpan let him talk away. “Ah, Celestia giving you trouble? I hope you told her off.” He’s no fan of hers either.
“Better yet, I invited her sister to our party that night. And she made a new star constellation for us the next night.”
“Good man. Now, where did you come from? Your city seemed to spring up overnight.”
Thornwood changed the subject, sipping at his wine again.
Keep drinking, old man. “We left our home. They passed a law we didn’t like. We said it would be the death of us. So, we came here and started a new life, a better life. Some of us came here before, but one day all--“
He nearly dropped their population. He had to be careful not to let Thornwood learn too much about his people. “All of us came in a few days. We brought lumber, stone, bronze, metals for building, bronze for piping, food to feed us until our crops come in--which they did. Rather well, I might add. Our city was up and running long ago, and we have made plans to expand.”
“Expand? How? To where? How’s your population growing?”
Scorpan pretended to sip his wine again, hoping his guest would mirror his act. “We want to trade with neighbors and I heard about your family. Where did you come from? What goods could you offer? What magics do you know?”
“You voluntarily left your home. We were driven from ours. Others did not approve of some of our practices, so we faced either their tree-perched nooses or a new home. We’ve made a living here, and are proud of what we’ve done. We have livestock and know of minerals, but we lack the need to utilize many of them. You mentioned magic. Are you wizards?” Thornwood asked.
“We came here using magic, and I myself know a great deal about magic. And I employ a number of scholars in case we need to work together.” All of Scorpan’s scholars worked their “normal” jobs, and he summoned them only when he needed to. They were expected to keep their minds sharp and their bodies fit. He expected himself to think clearly after forty-eight hours of work, and he couldn’t afford a mind that was not able to keep up.
Thornwood continued, “Our true wealth is not in gold or goats, but our libraries and experience. We did great things with magic for our homeland. To repay us, they drove us away. We will still do great things with magic, but horde the results for ourselves then. Unless you are interested in sharing what you know?”
Bingo.
“Perhaps. What great things have you done?” Scorpan allowed himself a sip of his wine while Thornwood finished his.
“We could build weapons to make Celestia cower beneath us. Are you aware of the power of the atom?”
Scorpan knew of atoms, and the potential power they held. Such marvels wielded by a man who did what he did sent a shiver down Scorpan’s spine. “Should an atom large enough be split, it would release enough energy to make a grain of sand jump,” he said.
“A single atom, and a single grain of sand. What if multiple atoms were compacted together tightly, so splitting one set off a chain reaction to set off more? How much energy could you release? Maybe you could set the world on fire? THAT is what we study. We are finding ways to animate bodies after death.”
Scorpan nearly had a silent seizure at his words. Thornwood continued, “And to stop the process of decay. We could build a doorway to another world and swallow up anything we choose. We are going to do great things in this valley! Do you want to come along for the ride?”
Thornwood was oblivious to the sweat on Scorpan’s forehead and his rapid blinking. He was staring off into the distance at some brilliant future, one that scared Scorpan to death. His answer came out in a slow, measured response.
“What would I do?”
“You could join us, my good man! We could learn from one another! Trade! Grow! We could put that bitch Celestia in her place. Show her where exhorting you gets her.” He was growing more cheerful at the possibilities, and would have continued, when the front door opened again.
“Father? Mother?” Thornwood called out, letting the new voices know where he was as Scorpan turned around and saw a couple carrying boxes of vegetables down the hall with them.
They both had the same black hair, but she was missing an earlobe. It was not just cut off--it looked as if she was born without it entirely. It reminded him of the boy he first saw. His sister was much bigger, but she said they were twins. Weird…
After leaving his box in the kitchen, the man came, drink in hand to sit with Thornwood and Scorpan. He introduced himself. “Gusto. I see you know my father.” Gusto had an unusually high-pitched voice. Something’s going on here. “What are we talking about?”
“I was explaining to Scorpan what we are studying and asked if he wanted to join our cause.”
“And I,” Scorpan said, taking a leap of faith, “was just asking about something. Smooze, I think it was called? What IS Smooze exactly?”
Gusto let out a mirthless explanation. “Ha! Smooze is what we destroyed the Grundels with!” Or we could do this the easy way. “We cooked up a big old batch and crushed them. Stupid, brainless, dirty, incestuous, delicious animals. We did the whole world a favor!”
“Still your tongue boy!” Thornwood snapped at him, but looked at Scorpan. “Forgive him, he already smells of wine.
“Yes, we used Smooze before. Got the recipe from the Flutterponies. Doubt they liked what we did with it. We made it much better. We found out how it works, inside and out. Do you want the secrets to the Smooze? They can be yours,” he said enticingly.
“I did hear from a griffon the Grundels used to be their prey. Otherwise, yes. I and my city will join you on this voyage to the Limits of Magic!” Scorpan raised his glass to toast. It was a chant from his school years and should have meant nothing to the two men before him, but they raised their own glasses as well.
“So, how hard was it to create the Smooze?” Scorpan asked casually.
Gusto went back to bragging. “All you need is to gather the ingredients--it doesn’t really matter how much--and throw them into a bowl, cauldron, whatever, and they will mix and do the rest. But the whole family helped, really. Except our Patriarch over here. He did steer it like a ship.”
“I said that’s enough, boy. Now, go help the women in the kitchen. It’s gonna be supper soon and we have a guest.” Thornwood scolded his son again.
Despite his empty belly, Scorpan sincerely did not want to stay for dinner. “Actually, I should be leaving soon. There is much to discuss later… How about this? I would like to invite your family to a party at Midnight Castle. Shall we say… one week from tonight?” Take it you monsters.
Thornwood stood and shook his hand. “That is most kind of you! I would love to attend. As would Gusto, but we have a large family. One hundred and one members. Do you wish for all of us to attend?”
“That is quite a gathering. How about only the brightest and best you have to offer? I will invite my family, my scholars, only the best of Sumaria has to offer.” Scorpan put his most convincing, deceptive smile on his face. “But I will need a number before long.”
“Forty,” Thornwood blurted out suddenly.
Both other men turned to look at him questionably. “Fourteen from my home, eighteen from Gusto’s, and seven of your brothers and sisters,” Thornwood explained.
“Both Bulbous and Creat will want to attend as well,” Gusto said quietly.
“Forty-two it is then!” Scorpan was more pleased to know how family members there were in total. He shook both their hands again. “You will attend one week from tonight. I hate to cut my visit short, but I believe if I leave now, I can make it back to the city gates by nightfall.”
“Don’t mention anything of it! You are the first visitor we have had in ages! It was a pleasure. Let me walk you to the door.” Thornwood patted Scorpan on the back and kept talking as he pulled his shoes on and stepped out the door. He felt a hand on his shoulder pulling him back before he descended the stairs.
Thornwood bellowed for the whole village to hear. “Family! This is Scorpan. He will be our esteemed guest. I want all of you to make him feel welcome whenever you see him.”
Scorpan was allowed to leave and turned south for Sumaria. Baugh would be worried sick. He said he was going to speak to the Muchick, and now he was going to return with a lot of work to do, and only a week to do it in.
Walking as fast as his long legs would carry him, he turned to see the villagers wave at him passing by. Something about them bothered him; they all had the same black hair and pudgy noses. There were deformities on many people too. A missing finger here, a peg-leg there… One woman had bandages tied around her eyes. Perhaps she was blind?
Then, just as he was out of eyesight of the village, something Gusto had said rang around in his mind like a cooking pot dropped in the kitchen in the dead of night. Stupid, brainless, dirty, incestuous, delicious animals. Scorpan stopped dead in his tracks. Did Gusto call the Grundels… when his family does the exact same thing?
nullHe took off running for home, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake. He had an appointment to make with Bey the griffon.