"They say one drop of water is enough to burn away all civility in a person. As if it had never existed." "You old fool," grinned one of the men. His filthy face contorted and he coughed noisily. "What do you want to know about civility, huh?" The men around him grunted in agreement. The old man was silent. Nohim had once been his name, but what mattered a name if no one used it. And as the sandstorm abraded the plaster of the walls, so the years abraded his being. His memories faded, his mind became dull. Only his principles remained as clear and pure as polished quartz. The old man bent over the table and whispered, "Listen." The dozen men in front of him fell silent. There was something in his words that cast a spell over them. "Take someone and throw him in a hole. The first day, give him a bowl of water. On the second, half a bowl. On the third, a quarter. Then you let him thirst for two days. And then, on the third day, you drop a drop of water into the hole every hour." Something flashed in the eyes of the libertines. Cruelty was something they smelled from a hundred miles away like an animal smells a water hole. "Now it is yours. For that hourly drop of water he will give you anything, betray anything, do anything. He can't help it. No matter how strong his will; his drive, more deeply rooted than anything else, will betray him." The old man's knotty hands trembled. The spell broke. "Nice story," sneered one of the bandits. His defiant words could not hide the fact that his grip on the knife was tense. No doubt the old man's words had not left a mark on any of them. "Yes," said another. He licked his tongue over his parted lips. "Let's see if he'll still talk so nicely when we cut out his tongue." The old man slowly stood up. No one stopped him. "And, what if you contain something else to the people; something that is no less important than water?" He could almost feel the bandits' incomprehension at his back. Nothing was more important than water. "Love. Tenderness. Humanity. What do you think happens to people's desires if they are never satisfied? What kind of morbid, inhuman being do they produce then?" The libertines were so busy laughing and grumbling that none of them noticed the ancient revolver in the old man's right hand. Slowly he climbed over the corpses of the men. Their blood was already absorbed by the sand of the ground. No doubt it would soon cover their corpses as well; drying them out and preserving them for the millennia. But the old man was not interested in such things. He went outside to his horse. It whinnied softly and sniffed at the old man's hands. It wouldn't last much longer, he knew. But this was just the way of things. Thoughtfully, he mounted the back of his nag and turned toward the sun. "The water will meet the needs the people, animals and soil. The sand needs the blood.


Seven seconds mean different thing for different people at different times. The seven seconds where you decide to close your eyes after your alarm goes off pass differently than the seven seconds before you give birth. Time is relative, seven seconds can turn into seven hours or it can pass in the blink of an eye. Seven seconds is all it took for the police officer to decide to look the other way when he pulled up next to me on the curb. In one second, he saw a dirty homeless man. In two seconds, he was positive I was an addict. In three seconds, he saw the blanket laying flat where there should have been a bump. In four seconds, he deduced my leg was missing. In five seconds, he saw my military tattoo. In six seconds, he contemplated his choices. And in seven seconds, he had made up his mind to leave me alone, all before before he had even talked to me. "Hello Sir," his southern accent was thick, though not quite as thick as his stomach. "Anything I can do to help ya there?" "Do you have to power to regrow limbs?" I huff at him, my misplaced leg aching at the mention of it. "Are ya a lizard, my man? What's they called? Salamanders aren'ts they? They can regrow they limbs?" The seven seconds replayed through the officers eyes again as he contemplated whether his first assumptions about me where correct, but I could see it in his eyes when he reached the same conclusion as before. I smile at him, my tongue pushing through the gap in my teeth. I know what he sees, and I know he won't do anything. He decided that seven seconds ago. He ignores my rambling and knocks on the window of his patrol car. The window rolls down slowly, the other officer hesitantly eying me. He wasn't so convinced of my innocence. After a brief seven second conversation, a water bottle is passed through the window. The fat man walks back over to me and tosses the water bottle onto the ground. It lands where my leg should have been. "Thank you for your service." I want to throw the water bottle at his head. It takes me seven seconds to decide that the cons outweigh the pros. It takes another seven seconds for him to walk back to his car. Seven seconds to get in. Seven more seconds to get settled. And seven seconds before he drives away. Once the patrol car was out of site, I use my good leg to kick the water bottle back into the street. Bracing myself against the wall, I hop back into the alley. It's dark back here. I almost don't see the body until I'm right on top of it. It took me seven seconds. Sighing I run my finger along it's throat. "It only took you seven seconds to bleed out." I sighed loudly. "I could have killed 8 of you in the time that pointless interaction took.


Walter swallowed hard and lifted his flashlight, as though the light would reveal some trick his mind played on him or some other visual illusion. The flashlight only amplified his confusion a thousand-fold. The light shimmered off ruby colored scales. A set of large, amber eyes glowed observing him keenly. Wings, a tail, it most definitely was a dragon staring at him. Walter reached into his pocket, pulling out his cell phone. No signal. “Your communications relic will not work here.” The creature’s voice was deep, powerful. The cavern shook slightly at the sound. The creature moved its tail, the sound of scales scraping against stone echoed off the walls. Walter’s mouth was dry, his heart gripped by the vice of terror, and his armpits suddenly quite damp. The creature lowered its head. “You may call me Benvolio.” “W-w-wa-walter.” He could barely say his own name. “A pleasure to meet you, W-w-wa-walter, what a rather unique name.” “Just Walter.” Walter clarified, gathering what courage he could stitch together. Benvolio moved his snout up and down, as if nodding. Walter craned his head to try to see the space around Benvolio. “I seem to have stumbled on your, um, dwelling in error, Benvolio. Forgive my intrusion, I would like to get out of your hair now.” At the comment regarding hair, Benvolio lifted a few claws to his head, scratching his scales in slight confusion. “Oh, it’s an expression. It means, um, I don’t want to bother you.” “Ah, you are no bother. I see you are unarmed, always a nice change of pace. But, yes, carry on about your day.” Benvolio lifted his frame out of the way. Walter gave a polite nod of gratitude and then walked by. As he kept his head turned to keep an eye on Benvolio as he walked past, though there wasn’t much he could do if the dragon decided to attack him. As he walked through the entrance to the cave to the open air, his heart sank. First, it was the wrong time of day based on the position of the sun. Second, and more importantly, this was not where he had been before. Walter had been hiking through the Missouri woods on a fall day. The view outside the cave he had walked into was that of rolling hills covered in trees. The sky back in Missouri had been gray that day, a contrast to the vibrant tapestry of crimson and ochre leaves in the trees. Now, there were snowcapped mountains in the distance, the sky blue with large fluffy white clouds, and the trees were covered with the white and pink blossoms of spring. Most importantly, he could not see a highway in the distance, instead he saw the distinct outline of a castle. “It is not your realm, is it, Walter?” Benvolio’s voice sounded behind him. “H-how did this happen?” Walter asked in confusion. “Legends have said that some portals to other worlds lurk in the nooks and crannies of these mountains, likely tied to similar gateways found in other worlds.” “So, I can just go back through the gateway, wherever it was in the cave?” Walter asked. “Well, in theory but…” Before Benvolio could finish his sentence, Walter turned back around and ran back into the cave. Walter sprinted through the cavern, looking for the gateway. He spent about two or three hours running through every turn he could find, checking the cavern walls. He walked through a room filled with what appeared to be gold and jewels. He ignored these items, along with large shelves filled with books. As tempting as the riches might be, he needed to find a way back. After hours of searching, he walked back outside to the entrance of the cave where Benvolio was waiting, and sat down on the ground, exhausted and defeated. Walter felt a surge of emotions run through him. Wonderment, fear, and then, grief. What if he couldn’t go home? Would he have to live in this strange place? On one hand, he probably wouldn’t have a mortgage anymore. He wouldn’t have his tiresome accounting job. No more morning commutes and traffic jams. Dragons (or at least one dragon), castles, that sort of thing, it was the sort of fantasy people in the modern world craved. Perhaps there would be adventure, excitement, wonderment, instead of suburbs and stale coffee. He pulled out his wallet and looked at the pictures within. While, yes, a part of him was relieved to no longer be in his own world and a perilous new world could be appealing, there was something precious to him back home. He looked at the picture of his daughter holding his three-year-old grandson. He needed to get home, he needed to be able to see them again. Hot tears rolled down his cheeks. “How do I go back?” He asked Benvolio, his voice barely above a whisper.


Benvolio tilted his head, lowering his snout next to Walter. His amber eyes fixed on the photograph of Walter’s family. “Is that your treasure?” He inquired, his eyes studying the photo intently. Walter nodded in return. “My daughter, Beth and my grandson, Sam.” Walter looked at the photo. In the photo they were all smiles, surrounded by a field of pumpkins. He remembered that day. When Beth first moved back home, she was somber, defeated. Sam’s father had left them both. Beth wasn’t sure how she could pick up the pieces. She had been so strong in the face of it all. Then, the day at the pumpkin patch was the first day in several months that he saw Beth smile again. It hadn’t always been easy opening his home after years of being an empty nester, but they managed, and in time Walter couldn’t remember what it was like to live alone. “I see, from what I have learned the gateways are tricky, wavering in and out of existence. Let us consult my treasure to see what we can learn.” Benvolio proceeded back into the cavern. Walter followed. They walked through the chambers, back to the large cavern room where Walter had seen the gold and gems. Benvolio’s eyes darted back to Walter, carefully examining Walter’s face as they passed the sparkling pile of riches. Yes, Walter took a glance, as he did before, but the moment of temptation was fleeting. “I am a bit confused,” Walter admitted, recalling Benvolio’s comment, “How is the treasure helpful for my situation?” Walter wondered if it was simply one of the idiosyncrasies of dragons. He had always heard the tale of dragons hoarding gold. “Oh, that’s not my treasure.” Benvolio chuckled. Benvolio stretched forth his wing, gesturing to several yards beyond the piles of gold. His wing pointed in the direction of rows and rows of tall, sturdy wooden bookshelves overflowing with books and scrolls. “Ah,” Walter smiled, “I am a bit of an avid reader myself.” He thought back to his own collection. King, Grisham, Christie, Tolkien, and more. Lately that collection had expanded to Suess, Sendak, and Carle. “I believe I have just the tome, authored by my favorite mage. I found a lovely spell in there once to jettison a pesky, misguided Knight out of my realm. Though, admittedly, I haven’t mastered controlling the destination and I don’t want to simply maroon you in some strange place.” Benvolio carefully navigated alongside the bookshelves, Walter walking beside him. “Yes, I would like to avoid winding up in another random location.” Walter acknowledged. He glanced up at the shelves, his eyes drifting between Benvolio’s massive form and the comparatively small books. “This might be rude, but how do you manage handling the books and scrolls?” “Alas, my size is a dreadful inconvenience most days. And, I do have to be extra cautious about sneezing while reading, as accidentally igniting the rather flammable material is never fun. I developed my reading habit when I was just a hatchling and have been hooked ever since. I am always happy on the rare occasion in which I have a visitor with hands such as yours that are more suited for handling my treasure. Would it be an imposition to ask you to fetch the blue, leather-bound volume on that shelf there, titled, ‘Incantations of Time and Space, Volume I by Andromeda Chronos’?” Walter walked over to the shelf and began reaching for the book when Benvolio’s head suddenly shot in another direction. Walter paused and listened, hearing the echo of footsteps coming down the passageways of the cavern. “Up ahead!” A man’s voice could be heard in the distance. “Oh bother,” Benvolio groaned, “this again. Walter, take the book and hide. I will handle this. Do not be afraid.” Walter was confused but did as he was instructed. He picked up the book and slid it into the backpack he kept his hiking gear in. Benvolio moved out from the area of the bookshelves, towards the front of the room. “Hark, the monster!” The man’s voice could be heard, louder. Four people wearing armor and carrying weapons entered the main cavern area. Benvolio rolled his eyes and swished his tail, missing them by a yard or two. “Begone adventurers! Give up your folly and I shall spare your lives.” Benvolio rose, stretching to his full height, which practically touched the ceiling of the cavern. He extended his wings out, giving them a single flap, creating a gale that pushed the adventurers back a few feet. “Nay terrible beast. Your reign of terror is over!” The leader of the group proclaimed. The other three adventurers nodded in unison. Walter watched the exchange from the shadows. Walter pondered, what had Benvolio done? The dragon had been nothing but cordial with him. Benvolio sighed deeply and rolled his eyes. He snorted, two small jets of flames shot out of his nostrils, resulting in two plumes of smoke rising to the cavern roof. “As you wish, then.” Benvolio bowed and then let out a roar that shook the stone walls, some of the books rattled off the shelves. The quartet of adventurers lunged toward him with spears and swords, save one adventurer who was armed only with a lute which they strummed furiously. Benvolio batted them away effortlessly. One of the adventurers chanted something, summoning flame from their hands. They shot a fireball at Benvolio. The attack of flame merely glanced off Benvolio’s scales ineffectively. Benvolio chuckled, but then they threw another fireball, which landed a few yards from the bookshelves. Benvolio’s eyes darted to the books, then back to the adventurers.


| “Now!” screamed the lute-playing assailant, who changed the song’s key. The adventurer with the spear thrust a lucky strike into Benvolio’s belly. Blood splattered on the cavern floor. Walter covered his mouth, suppressing a gasp. Benvolio swaggered back and forth for a few minutes, smoke spilling forth from his nostrils. His eyes rolled up into the back of his head, and then, with a mighty crash, he collapsed onto the ground. “Huzzah!” the adventurers cheered. Walter’s eyes widened. Did they just kill Benvolio? Walter debated jumping out from hiding, doing something to avenge the friendly dragon. But what could he do? They were armed and the best “weapon” he had available was an industrial-grade flashlight. The spear and sword would both do him in before he could land a single hit. He sank to the ground feeling helpless. Benvolio’s body was limp, unmoving on the ground. “Friends, let us commence grabbing the loot!” The leader pointed to the large piles of gold. They grabbed handfuls of gold and gems, filling their sacks to the brim. The group laughed and made jokes, singing their praises for defeating such a wicked foe. Walter clenched his fists and his jaw as he watched them, tears of rage filling his eyes. After the party had taken all the riches they could carry, they dragged their heavy sacks of treasure out of the cave. After a few minutes of silence, Walter emerged from hiding and approached Benvolio’s unmoving form. Walter knelt beside Benvolio’s snout, patting it lightly. He could taste the bile that had risen from his throat. Tears rolled down his cheek and his body heaved with sobs. Perhaps he didn’t know Benvolio well, but he had just witnessed a senseless murder. There was also the matter of how he would get home. Sure, he had the book, but he didn’t have magic. He was just an accountant from the Midwest. His greatest skills were itemizing deductions and singing Aerosmith songs karaoke. No matter how passionately he sang “Dream On” it wasn’t likely to conjure a portal back to Earth. Did he just lose his only chance to get home? How would Beth pay the mortgage, how would his grandson feel about having another family member walk out of his life? “Oh no, I am so sorry.” Benvolio’s voice spoke softly. Walter jumped back with a shriek of surprise. “I should have been clearer earlier,” Benvolio admitted, “that I might need to fake my death.” The tip of his wing gently tapped Walter’s shoulder. “There, there, my friend, there, there.” “What the hell just happened?!” Walter screeched. “Oh, that.” Benvolio stretched his wings a bit, then turned his neck from side to side. There is an ancient rumor that all red dragons are evil, and that we hoard gold. It is a most vexing falsehood. As a result, it seems at least once a fortnight I am confronted by some foolish knight or adventurer wishing to end my so-called reign of terror.” “That’s awful,” Walter replied. “Indeed, I try to dissuade them, but usually it results in me having to pretend I am attacking them without causing harm until they give up. Sometimes if there is anyone nearby who could get hurt, or a potentially unreasonable amount of collateral damage, sometimes its easiest to fake my death.” Benvolio looked back at the shelves, “They could have set this entire place ablaze, and I would be the only one able to survive the fire. I thought it best to hasten my ‘demise’ before they got someone killed and destroyed my collection in the process.” “They stole your gold.” Walter noted, his head tilting toward the piles of gold and gems. Benvolio only laughed in reply, then rapped his claws rhythmically against the cavern floor. There was a shimmer of light, and where the gold and gems had been there was only a pile of ordinary rocks. “The illusion for them will wear off in about two hours. By the time they make it back to town they will realize they have been bamboozled. The townsfolk get a good laugh at it, explaining to the latest group of adventurers that the alleged treasure is a fake. I hope word will eventually get around enough that I can finally end these tiresome charades.” Walter looked back to the pile of rocks, suddenly relieved he had ignored temptation. As an accountant, he dealt with far too many clients caught up in the latest get-quick-rich scam. He was glad to have narrowly avoided this realm’s version of that. “Now then, shall we get back to the matter at hand?” Benvolio asked. Walter nodded, pulling out the book.


Walter squinted at the book for a moment, then blinked rapidly. “Did the text on the book just change?” “When I first saw you, I surmised you weren’t of this world. I quietly cast a translation spell. You will be fluent in the common languages of this Kingdom for the next fortnight. Sometimes the spell has a tiny delay.” “I thought slow internet connections were a thing of my world,” Walter sighed. “I guess my over-the-hill-brain is connected via dial up.” “That is strange, the spell is translating, but the words you just spoke are nonsensical to me.” Benvolio confessed. He then added, “I must apologize for enchanting you without your permission, but I thought it the most practical course of action. It is much easier to put someone at ease when you can have a dialogue with them.” “You are fine, but next time please ask before casting spells on me.” Walter requested. Benvolio bobbed his head in acknowledgement. They flipped through the pages of the book, the gateways and portals between worlds, though seemingly random, were most likely to occur in moments of harmony between two places. One example the book gave was, if through improbable coincidence, two hallways in different galaxies were identical, it could cause a connection in which a person could easily walk from the hallway in their galaxy into the identical hallway in another galaxy. Cosmic echoes, the book called it. Likewise, two beings sharing a moment of great psychological or emotional resonance could cause a bridge between their realities. “Fascinating,” Benvolio pondered. He was beginning to form a theory of what brought Walter to his world. He asked Walter to turn the page. They came upon Benvolio’s bookmark, noting the spell he had cast on the knight. Once again, they agreed not to tempt that spell, since it seemed random in nature. Walter turned the page and Benvolio’s eyes studied it intently. There was a symbol on the page, one he had not seen since he was a hatchling. Her symbol. “Locus Cordis” Walter read out loud. Walter paused and looked up to Benvolio who was taken aback. Benvolio looked contemplative, then bowed his head down to Walter. “This may be the one, if I may, I must take a few minutes to reflect on something.” “Reflect away. Do you mind if I go find a bush or somewhere where I can go pee? I don’t suppose you have indoor plumbing here.” Walter asked. Benvolio shook his head “nay” to the indoor plumbing. Walter wandered off. Benvolio sat and focused on his memories. Benvolio remembered those earliest days. He remembered hatching; the great golden eyes of his mother, Bellissima, gazed down at him affectionately. Her scarlet scales shimmered in the firelight, her tail wrapped around Benvolio and his siblings. Bellissima sang to them in a smooth alto voice, bringing them food to eat. They nuzzled her, her scarlet scales emitting a low heat. In those days, the hatchlings had not yet matured enough to have their own flames, so they basked in hers to remain warm. She would take them outside, showing them the stars, explaining the constellations. One day they came; there was always a “they”. They used words like “monster” and “beast” to describe his mother. Benvolio would later notice that the same terms were always thrown around when they came for Benvolio’s kind. Knights and adventurers had a rather limited vocabulary. Bellissima tried to deescalate, but the knights would not listen. Bellissima swatted them with her tail, protecting Benvolio and his siblings. A single arrow, that was all it took, and Benvolio’s brother was no more. The halls of the cave shook with Bellissima’s roars of agony. She looked to the surviving hatchlings, sorrow in her golden eyes. Then one of the adventurers grabbed a sack, young Benvolio felt a hand squeezing him, making it hard to breathe. “Locus Cordis!” Bellissima cried. In that moment the knight’s blade found its target in the weak spot in Bellissima’s scales, piercing her heart. Benvolio tried to cry out, but his vision faded to white, and everything felt cold. When he awoke, the cave was gone, he was in a strange place filled with tall, cold stones. It was snowing. Benvolio closed his eyes, and gently closed the book shut with his claws. The mark on the page was his mother’s mark. The spell was his mother’s spell. Now, it was Walter’s best chance to get home.


The Archipelago publishes every Wednesday. See the pinned comment for links to the contents. \ I threw up again twice that night. By the third time, I was dry heaving, my body trying to squeeze every last piece of food out of my system, wrapping my guts up in knots like a wrung cloth. Nothing would be left. My throat burned, my mouth tasted of bile and with every inhale, my sinuses filled with the stench of my own insides. The dropped carcass and the spew were only a metre from me, but I couldn’t move. Moving hurt. I just closed my eyes, faced away from it, and tried to ignore the revulsion. Flies landed on me, sucking on my sweat for a light snack as they looked down at the offering like kings from a cliff. What a waste that kill was. I had murdered a gull only for it to end up as hurled-up chunks and discarded sinew on the stones. The next day, as the knives in my stomach began to dissolve, I found the energy to move, albeit slow and ragged. The gagging had cleared me of fluids and I was aware of the risk of dehydration. With the waters from the last storm dried up, I’d have to resort to blood for my liquid. I looked down at the flies swarming around yesterday’s meal. I couldn’t eat that. One hand clutching to my stomach, the other dragging the bird along the floor, I walked over to my usual spot. I tried to think of some other choice than to try this madness again, to keep eating raw, gamey gull - hoping I held it down - until by some miracle someone arrived to rescue me. But I was out of options. This was it. This was my last hope, my last stand. I placed the bird down and hobbled back to my spot, nestling down into my position one knee at a time. Lying down again, it was difficult to stay conscious. I could feel the blood pool in the bottom of my body, weighing me down, my back feeling cold and numb. My breath still tasted of the retching from last night, and each inhalation made me dizzy. Luckily the gulls seemed more attracted by day-old raw meat than any other bait, and soon the first one descended to the ground, and inched closer to the enticing meal. I waited, going through the motions, letting them pick once or twice at the meat before swinging the club as hard as I could. But my arms were tired, my timing off. The great lever merely prodded the bird. It was enough to push it over, but not stun it. I rose to my feet, seething as my stomach found a stray knife still remaining, and limped forward. The gull looked at me confused, then turned, and flew away. It wasn’t even close. It wasn’t till the fourth attempt that I even got a good hit. I pushed myself up to my feet, but the lethargy in my legs remained, the muscles were empty, and I languidly faltered to the bird as it flew away, barely sensing the danger. Again, and again, and again I tried. But with each attempt, as each bird stretched its wings and took flight, I could feel my body growing wearier. It was futile. And by the end of the day, I began to wonder if the birds even saw me as a threat. They would look at me, seemingly weighing up which of us was the predator and which of us was the prey. Maybe it wasn’t just the bait that drew them down, but my own decay. They were waiting. The next day I was too weak to even try and hunt. I shuffled through the forest, my spine hunched, lacking the strength to overcome gravity. I picked what berries I could find, before eating them with more fury, gulping the insipid beads down in handfuls. Who even knew if they were toxic? It didn’t matter. The island was tiny, I had to squeeze every gram of life out of it that I could. And I was running out. ——————————————————— I had lost track of how long I had been stranded. About four weeks was my estimate. Slowly, I could feel the malnutrition and the dehydration taking effect. My skin felt dry, and dead, like it was no longer a part of me, as though I was a skeleton wrapped in cloth for dignity. Even at the height of the afternoon, when the bright sun could bring warmth to the stones beneath me, I shivered. My heart beat slowed, awaiting a hibernation it would never wake from. When I walked, the world spun, and I struggled to decipher between the trees and the sky and the land and the sea. Everything was a blur, indistinct shapes that took time to settle in categorization. My stomach didn’t ache anymore. Aching cost energy. I just felt dry. My mouth empty of saliva, my eyes crusted with dirt, and the inside of my nose scratched with every breath. As I stumbled along the coastline, hoping desperately for food or water, I found myself looking at the sea. I knew I couldn’t drink. It was the kind of fact drilled into you as a kid, and never forgotten. Yet the lapping waters, the small flickers of droplets teased me like a siren. My mind was slowly slipping. I was on the beach, thinking of the water, imagining its taste on my lips, and before I even realised, I was stepping into the ocean. The water washed around my ankles. It was cold. Icy cold. Yet it felt wet. Gloriously wet. I sucked, guzzling air. No. That didn’t work. There was no hydration there. But my shins. They felt the relief. Maybe I didn’t need to drink, I could simply hydrate through the skin. I sat down, the ocean pooling over my thighs and hips, as I began shovelling handfuls of water over my arms and my face. I could feel the liquid soak into me. The hairs on my arms prickled with life like a germinating plant. A desert fresh with life again. It took a few minutes for the reality, the stupidity, the suicide to catch up to me. I stumbled back to the shore, already knowing it was too late. Soon the sun set, and a frosty autumn breeze blew up cold sea air onto the beach, turning the salt water in my pores to frost. My shivers were more like convulsions. My jaw spasmed rather than my teeth chattered. I wanted to sleep, but maybe the urge to close my eyes was more than tiredness. Maybe this was something else. Now, I battled against the instinct I had spent most nights on this island craving. I had to stay awake. Or else I may not get another chance. I began reciting stories from my past, talking myself through good times. I told old jokes, and forced myself to laugh, hoping the grinning muscles and chuckling would force vitality. My mind rolled through happy memories. The song of Deer Drum. Lachlann and his guitar as the whole ship sang with him; sometimes out of tune, often out of time, always full of spirit. My friends, come along. Don’t you hear the fond song? The sweet notes where the nightingale flows? For to hear the fond tale of the sweet nightingale, I sang the words to myself until I could see myself back on that boat. I floated over the seas, over time, and sat with my friends singing the refrain. As she sings in the valley below, As she sings in the valley below. I continued to float as the music continued. I was still singing, but the voice was outside of myself. As though I was singing to me, rather than from me. A disembodied vocalist serenading my body through the skies. My trav’lers don’t fail, for I’ll carry your pail, Safe home to a harbour we’ll go. You shall hear the fond tale of the sweet nightingale I find myself looking at Kadear. Back before it became Pomafauc, before I left. The Citadel was fully pristine again, how I had known it growing up, before the truth had collapsed it as fraud. I saw the residents, those who had worked hardest, enjoying the fruits of their labours. Two children in white shirts chased each other on clipped grass, as parents watched on, her arm wrapped around his. Elsewhere, a man painted. A swirl of greens and browns representative of a nearby tree slowly filled the blank white canvas. He looked free. There was no pressure to each dab of the brush, just expression. As she sings in the valley below, As she sings in the valley below. Then, among them, I saw Thomas. I was on the ground now. He saw me and walked towards me. “How’s the Archipelago?” He asked. “Found out what caused it yet?” I ignored the question. It didn’t matter. “I’m sorry.” “What for?” he asked. As his brow narrowed in confusion, there was the flash of red lines across his neck, deep purple bruises from the rope. They disappeared as he smiled again. “So tell me, what’s the best thing you’ve seen?” “I wish… I wish I could’ve saved you. I’m so sorry.” Those purple bruises returned again. “Don’t be. I made the decisions I made. I could’ve apologised and recanted and survived.” “Yet you didn’t.” “Like I said. Faint faith is better than a strong heresy. Better to win with your heart, than survive but lose in here.” He pointed to his chest. “You never knew you were right.” The words were hard to say, and they choked at the back of my throat. “We all end in ignorance. All of us. We will all never know what comes after we’re gone. We can only try to give those left behind the best chance.” “You did that,” I smiled. The bruises faded again. “So tell me, what was the best thing in the Archipelago?” “You want to tell him?” I heard the voice behind me. Soft, gentle and feminine. I could sense the wet dripping of her hair. But I didn’t turn around. Instead I thought back to Deer Drum. Alessia insisted we save the islanders. So we bought them a boat, and taught them to sail. I remembered when we first left. My feet were planted on the deck. It was a calm day, and I could feel a light breeze from the west push my hair forwards. Eir was there, steering the ship. Alessia stood calmly beside her, teaching her how to get a feel for the wheel in her hands, how to sense what the wind and the tides were saying. Ahead, I could see Xander playing with Novak and Mirai. Kurbani stood to the, her arms resting on her thighs, bent over in laughter.. “This is how I remember them all too.” Lachlann appeared next to me. “My friends, happy with an ocean breeze.” He held the guitar in his arms. They didn’t move, but the melody played anyway. \*That\* melody. I, that other me, that disembodied me, sang along. The present me spoke. “We never heard your last verse.” “Some things don’t get resolved.” He replied. “Sometimes, things end prematurely.” I still think of my home, where I’d lands of my own. The spirit of Deer Drum’s hard as stone, We will hear the fond tale, of the sweet nightingale “It deserved a better end… a longer end. It never should have finished when it did.” He chuckled. “It’s almost like you’re not talking about the song.” In a moment the sky turned black, and the seas swelled as the left side of his face became a gaping wound. His skull was crushed in, and his eye hung loose from his socket. My throat tightened, and my stomach sank. “Too many stories ended too soon.” On the ship behind Lachlann I could see the boy from Outer Fastanet, the pirates from the beach, Marshall on Aila Flagstones, Rory on Granite Vorhorn. “If they were too soon, when were they meant to end?” Lachlann asked, the broken face contorting as he spoke. “Longer. Just longer. Can’t I keep yours going?” “Only in your mind.” He smiled, loose tendons hanging from the jawbone “I’m not there for it.” My eyes looked down, avoiding the sight. “What point does that serve?” “Because if you keep that love alive, then maybe you can pass it onto the next person. If we take our love for the dead, and pass it onto the living, maybe we can build a better Archipelago.” I looked back up. A blue sky was restored along with his face. The old ghosts, too, had gone with the storm. “Why am I here? What do you need?” “Oh, I don’t need anything. I can’t. I’m not around to need.” As he spoke, his face briefly transformed to a concave bloody mess, before it flashed to skin again. “This is for you, not for me. You are. I am not.” “Then what do I need?” It was Thomas, in Lachlann’s place, that replied. “To know that even if the final thoughts were horror, my mind held more good memories than bad. Good memories given by you.” I blinked. Lachlann returned. “To know that life is for the living. That there is nothing you can do for me now. You have to do what is best for you and those still around to experience what you have to give.” As she sings in the valley below, As she sings in the valley below. “Goodbye then.” I said, a bittersweet smile crossing my lips. His face turned sour. “Just be sure to say goodbye to everyone.” I could feel a sensation behind me. Cold, cold water. I could hear the sea trickle off long damp hair. “I’m not saying goodbye to her.” I planted my feet and tensed my shoulders. The guitar vanished as Lachlann began marching towards me. “You have to.” “No I don’t. Because that hasn’t happened.” “You saw it, Ferdinand.” He placed his arms on my shoulder and began trying to usher me round. Wet footprints slapped against the deck. The wind grew to a gale, and the sky blackened again. “I’m not turning.” “You have to face things, Ferdinand. Your own fears. Your own loss.” Lachlann bared his teeth as he tightened his grip. “Turn to face it. Face your own thoughts.” He wrestled me as my arms flinched to keep him off. “These are your conclusions, Ferdinand. You came to this thought. I’m not here to turn you. You are. Face your failure.” He jolted me hard, and my feet gave way. I wheeled around, falling, and screamed. “NO!” I was on the beach again. Lying down. The sea was slowly cascading onto the shore in dull, delayed tones. The splash of the waves morphed with the drag of the sand back out to sea. My breathing was slow. Too slow. My eyes were struggling to focus, and as the evening light glanced off the sea, it became a white slate, stretching off to the horizon. “I’m dying. I’m dying, and I don’t want to.” “It’s okay,” came the voice. The stones beneath my head became a lap. Black denim jeans, clogged with water. Soft and cool. “I’m here.” “You’re not here. You can’t be here.” I shook my head. “Why not?” I looked up at Alessia’s face above me. Droplets from her hair fell down and landed on my skin. “Because you’re alive.” “The living don’t tend to have ghosts.” I felt like a dagger had been driven through my chest. Alessia saw my face squirm, and placed a hand on my head, running her fingers through my hair. “Are you…” I stopped. I didn’t want to finish the sentence. “Are you dead? Did you die?” “What do you want to believe?” “That you’re okay. That even as I die here, you’re out there, sailing.” A breeze blew her hair back, revealing the same calm face she had when she was at the helm of her ship. “Then let’s choose to believe that.” “But what’s the truth?” My voice was thin and raspy, struggling to contain the bitter confusion it held. “You know neither of us know that. Let’s focus on you for now.” I could feel my heart rate slow a little more. “I don’t want to be alone. Not now.” “You’re not. I’m here.” “I tried. I tried to survive here. I wasn’t strong enough.” My limbs felt numb with the cold. Her fingers played with tussle of my hair. “We’re all only as strong as those around us.” “I needed you.” My tear ducts squeezed a tear from the corner of my eye, and it tracked down my cheek. “I know.” I turned to face the ocean again. “I love you.” “Its okay. Close your eyes.” I blinked, the eyelids staying shut for a couple of seconds before I found the strength to open them. “I wish I could’ve told you. I wish I could tell you I loved you. How you made me feel.” “I’m sorry you can’t.” I felt her hand running across my head in soft pets until I no longer felt those either. “I don’t want to die not telling you.” My eyes blinked again, more time passed before they opened. “It’s okay. I’m here now.” My eyes closed. In the darkness, the music began again. At first it was my own voice, accompanying Lachlann’s guitar. But as the verses transitioned the guitar stopped, and my own voice faded to silence. Then, in the emptiness, I could hear other voices. Ones I recognized, but couldn’t place. \*Pray sit yourself down, with me on the ground,\* \*On this bank where sweet primroses grow,\* \*You shall hear the fond tale,of the sweet nightingale.\* I felt myself being lifted up from the ground, carried into the sky. \*As she sings in the valley below,\* \*As she sings in the valley below.\* Then everything faded. For time, there was nothing. Then my eyes flicked open. I blinked, the pupils shocked by light. I cracked them open again. I fluttered. Between each flick of my eyelids, I could see a bit more detail of my hazy surroundings. Old nerve endings returned to life. There was something beneath me. Not stone. But fabric. A bed. Slowly, focus came. There were walls, wooden panelling on all four sides. Footsteps scurried away followed by a young woman’s voice. One I recognized. “Mum! Dad! He’s awake!” I closed my eyes and squinted hard, clearing the mist from my vision. When I opened them, I saw three faces at the foot of my bed. Mirai to my right. And to the left, Xander and Kurbani, smiling down at me. \ The Archipelago publishes every Wednesday. See the pinned comment for links to the contents.


Walter returned to the cavern, back into the main room. Benvolio stretched out on the cavern floor, head down. “Everything ok Buddy?” Walter looked at Benvolio’s posture and face, there was something very familiar in the expression, though he hadn’t seen in on a dragon before. Benvolio bobbed his snout up and down. “I have a theory, but I must consult the author of the book.” Benvolio explained. “Would you be agreeable to a bit of a flight?” “Um, flight?” Walter asked. Walter realized that in this place, with this company, a flight didn’t mean some cramped airline seats and half a can of soda. “We need to travel a dozen leagues.” “That makes sense.” Walter replied. Benvolio nudged the book with his tail. Walter nodded and put the book in his backpack. They walked towards the entrance of the cave. Benvolio crouched down. Walter looked apprehensively at him, then braved the conversation. “So, you want me to ride you? Would it be uncomfortable to you?” Walter rubbed the back of his head. Benvolio snorted a laugh, smoke spilling out of his nostrils. “Oh, of course not. You will be no burden at all for me to carry on my back, though we will need to find a way to secure you to prevent you from falling off.” Benvolio explained. Walter rummaged through his sack, finding some rope. “That will do.” Benvolio replied. Walter was thankful that his love of hiking and the outdoors had left him nimbler than most men his age. He had some light arthritis, but nothing unbearable. He managed his way up onto Benvolio’s back, then the two of them worked together to fashion the rope around Benvolio and Walter so that Walter was secured up there. Walter, like any self-respecting suburban dad, had mastered the art of tying Christmas trees to the roof of his car, so he hoped the skills would translate. Plummeting to his death in a strange world seemed like an unpleasant way to die. “Are you ready?” Benvolio asked. Walter looked down, truly taking in how steep a drop it was from the side of the mountain where they were. He closed his eyes and thought about Sam begging him for piggyback rides. Walter felt a bit embarrassed, but then resolved that instead of him being a grown man getting a piggyback ride, he was a mighty dragon rider. “Onward!” he called out, as if trying to convince himself. Benvolio backed up a few paces, then began charging towards the edge. Walter let out a high-pitched scream as Benvolio leapt off the side of the mountain. For the span of a breath, they were falling. Walter clung to the rope, still wailing like a banshee. Then Benvolio’s wings unfurled, the force of the wind catching them, and they were aloft. Walter’s scream of terror transformed into a triumphant cry. The only Earthly thing Walter could even remotely compare it to was riding a roller coaster. Benvolio glided on the air, he swooped lower for a moment, just a few yards above the tops of the trees. The gust of the wind kicked up thousands of tiny pink flowers. Walter craned his neck to see the jet stream of flower petals trailing behind them. Walter closed his eyes, feeling the rush of air in his hair and on his cheeks. He smiled, basking in the moment. After a few hours, the sun dipped down towards the horizon. Benvolio began his descent, spotting a nearby clearing where they could land. Walter held on tightly, and Benvolio gracefully landed in a large meadow. Walter untied himself and stretched his legs. He took a drink from his canteen, and then pulled out a stick of jerky. “Want some?” Walter outstretched his hand, as he made the gesture it occurred to him that the tiny stick of jerky was probably not very enticing to such a massive creature. Benvolio carefully pinched the offering between his claws, thanking Walter before taking a bite. “Most tasty indeed. Though let us make haste. The village is about a quarter of a league up ahead.” “Will we meet the author there?” Walter asked. “In a way,” Benvolio paused. “Andromeda Chronos is deceased, so first we must visit someone with the ability to talk to the dead.” Benvolio explained.


As they had plenty of time for the journey, Madeline, Lena, and Billie did what they could to enjoy it. Though none of them had said it out loud, Madeline knew that her friends were thinking the same as her. *If anything went wrong with their rescue mission, this might be all the time they had left. So they had better make the most of it.* They plotted a route that avoided most towns or cities, stopping for the night in idyllic villages or quaint farm cottages. Their journey took them through fields and forests, out in the wilderness where you could almost fool yourself into believing the world was as it had always been. And they took plenty of breaks along the way. After not having seen a Poiloog ship in days, they allowed themself the indulgence of the occasional face-to-face meeting, though only ever two of them at a time. The third would always keep watch for any approaching trouble. Sometimes, Madeline would spar with Billie, getting used to fighting again after so long on the bench. Other times, she’d gossip and giggle with Lena, growing ever more fond of the woman. Then came the times when she left the other two alone, patrolling the area to keep them safe. There was still a twinge of jealousy when she thought of the pair reliving old times while she wandered around on the edge of things. It felt reminiscent of what her life had been like before. But this wasn’t like before. Nothing was. Billie and Lena had a history, and she had to accept that. Heck, she was glad of it really. Without the medic, she probably wouldn’t still be alive. And though she hadn’t known them long, she realised that she loved them both dearly. Not some silly crush that was bound to distract from more important things. The love of friendship and respect and shared ideals. It was a feeling she was pretty confident was mutual. And what was a tiny twinge of jealousy in the face of that kind of love? On the fifth day of their journey, they stopped for lunch at a beautiful lake secluded in a valley of kinds, surrounded by rocky hillsides with a few burbling streams. They walked around its circumference until they were spaced equidistantly on its edge. With a good few hundred metres between them all, it seemed like a safe enough spot to relax and enjoy the scenery. As she settled on the grass, Madeline could see the two small figures of her friends doing the same. She giggled as she saw Billie waving enthusiastically and reached for her walkie-talkie. “You don’t have to communicate via semaphore, you know?” she said. “We still have these to talk through.” “Yeah,” their voice came through in reply, “but normally there’s building or trees in the way when we talk. I’m just making the most of being able to see both of you at once.” “At this distance, I doubt you could even tell us apart,” Lena said. “Now hush, the pair of you. I want to enjoy the tranquillity of nature.” “Why do *we* have to be quiet just because *you* want to be?” Billie asked. “Can’t you just switch to another channel if we’re that annoying?” “But then I might miss out on all the interesting drama!” the medic replied. Before Billie could respond, Madeline pressed the button on her radio. “Fine!” she said with a huge sigh, doing her best ‘reluctant teenager’ voice. “We’ll behave.” “For now!” Billie added quickly. Madeline chuckled to herself. Then, there were no more hisses of static or clicks of buttons or teasing comments. There was only the rustle of the wind through long grass, the chirping and buzzing that showed how full of life that grass really was, the ebb and flow of birdsong, and the gentle lapping of the lake at its shore. As much as she enjoyed talking with her friends, she had to admit Lena had a point. The soundscape was wonderfully soothing. And it was *beautiful* here. It was the kind of place she might have planned a day trip to before the Poiloogs came, hiking up here in the morning to have a picnic by the lake only to hike back after. Except then, it would have been bustling with other people. There would have been dogwalkers and birdwatchers, large groups of friends lounging about, drinking and eating and laughing, and maybe even children playing in the lake. Back then, she’d have had to grit her teeth at all the noise they made, *tolerating* it for the sake of the view. Now, she’d give almost anything to get *that* soundscape back. When they’d finished eating, it seemed that none of them was quite ready to leave their little island of tranquillity just yet. Though they’d have to eventually. As tempting as it was to hike out into the wilderness with a tent and some tins, whatever supplies you took would run out soon enough. And in her experience, journeys were far more dangerous than staying put. Whatever you could do to minimise your time on the road was for the best. It was Billie that broke the silence first. “Are we allowed to talk again?” they asked. Madeline could hear the cheeky grin in their voice. “I suppose…” Lena replied, drawing out the words in an exaggerated show of reluctance. “Good! Because I’ve got a suggestion.” As they spoke, Madeline saw the little figure on the other side of the lake wriggling about a bit before standing. “Yes?” she prompted, knowing already that she was likely to love and hate it at the same time, whatever it might be. “Does anyone fancy a swim?” they asked. But before either Madeline or Lena could answer, Billie had dropped their radio to the ground and half-walked half-flopped into the lake. Madeline let out a bark of laughter and heard what almost sounded like an echo from where Lena sat a couple of hundred metres away. She lifted her walkie-talkie to her mouth. “Aren’t you meant to wait an hour after eating or something?” she asked. “I think a little cramp is the least of our worries,” the medic replied. “I suppose we should join them, then?” “You first,” the medic replied. “Someone’s got to keep watch and deal with any Poiloogs that might appear. Besides, I think it might be a little chilly for me. You enjoy though!” Rolling her eyes but grinning at the same time, Madeline pulled off her trainers before edging closer to the lake. She tentatively dipped a toe in and let out a sharp hiss of breath. Lena had guessed right. It *was* chilly. Then again, it wasn’t anything she wasn’t used to after endless morning “showers” from her water butts in the library garden even through the dead of winter. It would be *refreshing*. At least, that was what she tried to tell herself. Besides, after all of the walking, she could definitely do with a wash — and so could her clothes. Deciding it would be easier to do it quickly, she copied Billie’s “half-run half-flop” manoeuvre. Cold water splashed around her, the chill knocking the air out of her lungs for a second. It was invigorating. After a few moments of getting used to the strange weightlessness of being in the water, Madeline realised this was probably the first time she’d been swimming in years, possibly more like a decade. It wasn’t something she’d felt comfortable doing even before the Poiloogs came, having to strip off in front of others and throwing herself into something that could kill her. It had made her feel far too vulnerable. Strange, then, that now the hug of the water lifting her up felt oddly comforting. Her clothes billowed around her as she swam out a little further. Soon, she heard the gentle slosh of an approaching swimmer. As she came to a stop and started treading water, Billie did the same a few metres away. Their hair was slick to their head, the wet turning it a darker shade of brown to the point it almost looked black. Madeline hadn’t realised how long it had gotten — for them, anyway — almost reaching their chin when it wasn’t effortlessly tousled. “Enjoying the water?” they called out. Madeline tried to think up a witty response, but as she looked at Billie’s head bobbing up and down with a wide grin plastered on their face, all attempts at thought fled her mind. “Yeah,” she replied, returning the smile. “Yeah, I really am.” “Good! Because you’ve got more coming your way!” Before Madeline could even attempt to puzzle out Billie’s meaning, they’d raised an arm and brought it sweeping across the surface, sending a wave of water splashing into her face. Spluttering and laughing, Madeline returned fire. She wasn’t sure how long they splashed and laughed and swam for, but when they finally agreed it was time to leave, her fingers were wrinkled and her bones ached with the cold and the tired. Perhaps she’d regret it when they started walking again, but she doubted it. Some moments and the memories they made were worth a little discomfort over.


Walter pulled out his flashlight as twilight fell upon them. He looked up to Benvolio who patiently lumbered alongside him on foot as they walked towards the village. “Odd question.” Walter spoke. “That is a statement, not a question, so I am a bit perplexed by your meaning.” Benvolio responded. Walter shook his head and continued. “Sorry, it’s an expression where I’m from. Anyway, I was curious, it seems like humans haven’t always been kind to you.” “That is putting it mildly.” Benvolio noted in a serious tone. “Why then, are you so kind to me? Why do you spare the lives of humans who attack you?” Walter asked. Benvolio swished his tail back and forth as he walked. He looked at the large open area around them, it was bordered by some trees. The meadow shared some similarities with a field he had seen before when he was still a hatchling, a field filled with strange stones. “I had every reason to hate humans, until I met someone very dear to me.” Benvolio replied. “It was she who introduced me to many wonderful books.” Benvolio’s thoughts drifted to the past. He remembered being transported to a strange place, the field he found himself in was filled with tall stones covered in writing. As a hatchling, Benvolio found himself curled up on top of one of those stones, shivering in the winter air. Due to his young age, he had not yet developed his internal flame. He looked to the gray sky above, the dance of the snowflakes as they drifted down onto his snout. He closed his eyes and began to wait for death. He was hungry, shivering, and his mind seared with the images of his mother’s eyes as they parted, the shattering sound of her death cries still resonated in his ears. After all her efforts to save him, he would die in a strange place away from their cavern, away from their mountain. It was all the fault of the humans. “Dad, look, a lizard!” A girl’s voice called out. “I’ve never seen one that looks like him before, it almost looks like he has wings and he’s bright red, like a tiny dragon.” Benvolio slowly opened one eye. A human, a bit smaller than the ones he had seen, but much bigger than himself loomed over his form. Benvolio let out a snarl, but as he was only a few inches long, the sound was not as ferocious as he had hoped it to be. “Samantha, leave it be,” a man’s voice responded. “He’s cold.” The girl called Samantha whimpered. Her eyes looked up, pleading with her father. “He could die.” Her voice was tender, but Benvolio knew better. Humans were cruel, he had witnessed it with his own eyes. “Sweetie, please.” The dad urged, trying to pull his daughter forward. The girl reached out to Benvolio. Benvolio snapped feebly at her, but he moved slowly in the cold air. Her hand scooped him up with ease. He moved to bite her fingers, but the warmth of her hand was comforting. Young Benvolio nestled into her palm as she pulled him close to her. “Please Dad, he was on Mom’s tombstone, it’s a sign. Mom wants us to care for him.” Samantha cradled Benvolio and once again looked up at her father with wide eyes. The man looked to his daughter and sighed deeply in resignation. “Fine, but if it makes a mess in the Airflyte I will fling that little lizard right out the window.” “Yes sir.” Samantha sighed. Benvolio should have tried to resist being taken, but they moved him towards some strange metal shape with wheels. As they entered the vehicle and Benvolio was out of the cold air, he swiftly drifted to sleep. When he awoke, he was laying on a bed of sand, there were a few rocks scattered here and there. There was a small dish filled with some sort of vegetation and strange pellets. Benvolio was skeptical at first, but his hunger won out and he eventually braved the food. The pellets tasted terrible, but they helped. He surveyed his surroundings, noticing the light acting strangely a few inches from where he was. He ambled forward, hitting an invisible wall where the light reflected strangely. Across the room, Samantha was stretched out on a bed with a book in her hands. “Oh, you’re awake!” Samantha smiled as she set down the book she was reading and walked over to the enclosure where Benvolio was trapped. Benvolio tried to snarl. Samantha reached down, gently scooping him up into her hand. It annoyed him how warm and comforting her skin was. “Would you like to read with me?” She asked. Benvolio was confused, but seeing as she was much bigger than he was, he could do little to protest. She carried him over to the bed and set him down by her book. “I am reading some plays by Shakespeare. Currently I am reading Romeo and Juliet, have you ever heard of it?” She asked. Benvolio blinked. “I think you will like it. It has feuding families, lovesick teenagers, swordfights, poison, and more.” Benvolio did not fully understand the words she was saying, but as Samantha began to speak, her voice had a soothing rhythm. Benvolio nestled next to the book. The paper had a pleasant scent, he liked it. Samantha gently rubbed his back with her finger. “Come to think of it, you need a name.” She smiled looking at her book. “I don’t think you’re a Romeo. Maybe Tybalt? No, Tybalt’s kind of a jerk.” Benvolio tilted his head. “Or, how about Benvolio?” Something about the sound of the word pleased the young dragon. “Benvolio suits you, he is cautious and gentle, like you.” Samantha smiled. Benvolio’s thoughts returned to the present as they neared the village. Upon their approach, some of the men ran out of their homes with spears and shields. Benvolio looked to Walter, then back to the armed men and sighed deeply. “Lower your weapons!” A man cried out. He walked out of his house wearing strange clothes. Walter blinked, noticing a small skull dangling from the man’s belt, it didn’t appear to be a human skull. The man approached Benvolio and raised his arms in greeting. “Benvolio my friend!” “Grimm, a pleasure as always.” Benvolio lowered his snout in greeting. He then turned his eyes to Walter, “Walter, I would like you to meet Grimm, a necromancer.


Walter stared at the necromancer. Grimm appeared to be in his late 30s, at least by Earth standards. His beard and hair were neatly combed, he wore a long, black robe lined with emerald-colored satin. Grimm, in turn, took a glance at Walter’s attire, observing his blue jeans, backpack, and flannel shirt. “What curious attire you have, Sir Walter.” Grimm stroked his beard. “Oh, this type of clothing is pretty ordinary back in my home…” Walter paused, wondering how to describe his world to a stranger, “kingdom.” “You’re not from Bythica, are you? I heard the Dark Lord there has appointed a very strange advisor and some curious fashion choices are really taking off in the court.” “No, I am not from there. I am from Kirkwood, Missouri.” Walter replied. At the mention of the word, “Missouri”, Benvolio’s eyes widened slightly. Grimm was oblivious to the change in Benvolio’s expression, as was Walter. “Misery you say?” Grimm mused, “I have never heard of it, but to be called that, your kingdom must be awful.” “Oh, it’s not so bad, except when it’s the middle of the summer and the cicadas are doing their thing. When that happens it’s loud and you’re covered in sweat because it’s a hundred degrees out with full humidity, and don’t get me started on all the mosquitos…” Walter began to ramble. Benvolio cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, shall we get to the business at hand, and perhaps enjoy a good meal while we are at it?” They found themselves gathered around a campfire roasting meat and sharing mead about an hour later. They had to dine outdoors to accommodate Benvolio’s size. Grimm and Walter had carried out a keg of mead that Grimm had been saving for such an occasion. Grimm and Walter each held a pint, while Benvolio picked up the keg and sipped the remaining contents. The fire crackled and popped, the light dancing off Benvolio’s scales like sparkling rubies. Walter enjoyed the warmth of the fire, as the spring air had cooled considerably upon sundown. Walter had always enjoyed the outdoors, the smell of campfire smoke, it was a nice contrast to sitting in a gray walled cubicle in the office. It had also been some time since he had shared a warm meal and conversation with friends. It was a welcome change. “Walter is from another world?” Grimm raised an eyebrow. “Aye, one of those pesky gateways opened for some reason, and now he is stuck here with a treasure back home.” Benvolio explained. Grimm leaned over to Walter and whispered in his ear. “He uses the term treasure all the time for various things, what does it mean in context?” Grimm inquired. “Oh, my treasure?” Walter asked. Grimm nodded. “He means my family.” Walter explained. He pulled out a picture of his daughter and grandson. “The lady is quite fetching.” Grimm smiled, handing back the picture. “So, you are looking for a spell to go home?” “That’s the plan.” Walter smiled. “Benvolio, why did you bring him to me? You know that is outside my realm of magic.” “But not outside of the realm of Andromeda Chronos.” Benvolio replied. Grimm fell silent. He chugged the remainder of his pint, then began to chew nervously upon his own beard. He stood up and began to pace around the fire. He raised his hand a few times as though to speak, then fell silent. After a few minutes of such deliberation, he spoke. “You know she is rather unpredictable.” Grimm broke his silence. “It is just a talk.” Benvolio said in an even tone. “If I miscalculate, she will not be back for just a talk. She is crafty, she probably left some sort of contingency plan for the neophyte necromancer foolish enough to summon her spirit back to the land of the living.” “Grimm, my mother’s mark was in her book.” Benvolio’s voice was low. Walter looked up in surprise at the revelation. Walter recalled Benvolio’s strange shift in mood back at the cavern. Suddenly, it made sense. “Your inquiry, it is not simply in regard to your new companion, is it?” Grimm asked. “I have suspicions and theories. I think our fates have been entangled in some way.” Benvolio paused to finish the keg, he set it down gently and leaned his snout closer to his companions. The reflection of the flames danced in Benvolio’s eyes. “Walter, what was the name of your realm again?” “Kirkwood, Missouri?” “I believe I have heard of the Kingdom of Misery. I may have visited your realm, many, many moons ago. Are you familiar with the Kingdom of the Ill Noise?” “Gentlemen…” Walter paused, glanced to Benvolio, “I mean, gentleman and gentle…dragon.” He sighed and continued, “It’s pronounced Missouri, not Misery.” Walter paused to savor the mead before continuing, “And do you mean Illinois?” Walter asked. Benvolio’s eyes widened and he nodded with enthusiasm. Walter continued, “yes, I have heard of it. It’s right across the river.” “Indeed, this is no coincidence indeed.” Grimm mused. “So, will you summon her?” Benvolio asked. “Fine, but if we call upon her and she finds out how to regain a physical form, turning into an unstoppable lich, then you, my friend, are responsible for vanquishing her.” “Fair.” Benvolio acknowledged. “I will get my gear, but remember, you have been warned.” Grimm shook his head again before walking back towards his home.


A naked man covered in cuts & bruises is thrown into a cold & dimly lit room by 4 identical men. They cuff the naked man to a steel pipe in one corner. 1 stays & sits in a chair in the room while the other 3 leave & lock the door. “Damn, you were way weaker than we thought.” “Kinda tough to battle 100 copies at a single time, don’t ya think?” “True.” The man tries to readjust himself & hide his dong. But just in that moment as he tries to relax, he looks at the copy. “So… what’s it like being a copy?” “It’s alright.” “What’s… alright mean to you?” “Easy & simple. I’m given a job, I do it, & then I wait for the next assignment. Usually passing the time by playing cards with the others or counting something.” “Sounds kinda boring.” “Is it?” “Yeah! Why not try something new? Like bowling, biking, new foods, or even watching a really good movie!” “All of those cost money though.” “And? Why not get a job?” “I already have a job.” “Do you get paid?” “No.” “Then why do it?” “Because I have to.” “Why do you have to?” “Because the original told me too.” “Why should you listen to him?” “Because he’s the original.” “How do you know he’s the original?” “Because he’s not like us.” “What does that mean?!” “…why do you want to know?” “Because… it seems weird to me how you’re following this guy! Why not be your own person?! Live your own life, get to know people, get your own experiences!” “I don’t see why I should.” “What’s not to love about life?! Life is awesome! Not unless you are ruled under this “original.” “Well that’s just you. I’m a clone. A foot soldier if you will. My entire purpose is to be guided by the original. He made me to do work for him, simple as that. So, if that’s what I’ve been made for that’s what I will do.” “What if you don’t want to?” “Then I’m defective. Kinda like a cancer.” “Did he teach you that?” “No. I just know. I mean, you humans have no problem with removing cancers. Right?” “Yes but-“ The clone smiles “Then you should understand! If we have some clone with an independent identity it threatens the existence of the rest of us!” “But… wait, how does this work.” “Well… wait, I shouldn’t tell you how it works. #1 rule as a good villain is to not give away valuable information.” “Don’t worry! I won’t tell anyone!” “…naw. I may be a clone, but that doesn’t make me stupid.” “Well you sound stupid for following this “original.” “Why do you keep doing the finger thing?” “Because how do you know he is the original?! You yourself could very well be the original! If you are, there shouldn’t be any problem with living your own life!” “I couldn’t possibly be the original.


"Why can't I stop crying?" "It's a release, let the river flow. It's natural." Pulses of grief rippled through his torso. Energy eternal and emotional escaped him in stolen gasps and hiccups. "That's it. Let it all out." She said, rubbing circles on his back. "I feel so stupid." "Don't. You're not." He glanced across at her, flicking a stray tear onto the porch. Thirsty granite swallowed it up. "I remember he, he used to pick me up for work literally down that road there, right by a big monkey puzzle tree. I'd hear him before I saw him, his car was atrocious. I have no idea how that thing was roadworthy, it was really, like, low to the ground and scuffed. He had to put cork behind the wing mirrors to stop the glass falling out." Ragged laughter burst out of the man, and the woman withdrew her hand. "He must have been proud of you." She said. "He never showed it." "That's men for you." "Not all men." He was less coiled up now and she allowed herself to be embraced. "No. Some of you aren't so bad." "Maybe if my brother wasn't so screwed up, he wouldn't have done what he did. How do you go through with something like that? Jumping in front of a train? It's pathetic really. Just weak. God, if he was still here I'd kill him myself!" "Hey." "Sorry." He flexed a clammy fist and more time passed. The trees swayed, cars drove by, and a light fog descended. "I'd never leave you like that, you know? Never." "I appreciate that, Tom." "Can we go inside?" He said. "Of course." They lifted their stiff bodies up and retreated indoors. She boiled the kettle and made them a cup of tea each, despite it being well past midnight. They sat in bleary-eyed silence on stools, sipping. "Quite a strange third date." Tom said. "You couldn't help it." "Natalie, can I ask you something?" "Sure." "Do you like me?" "Yeah, I do like you. Do you like me, Thomas?" Tom laughed softly, crinkles appearing beside his eyes. He blushed. "It's just that we hit it off so well and I couldn't tell if you, you know, liked me in *that* kind of way." Natalie tucked a lock of dark hair behind her ear. "We're still getting to know each other, but I think you're sweet. I wouldn't mind seeing more of you- seeing you more often, I mean. I assume there'll be a funeral in New Zealand?" "Yeah." "We'll have to meet after that. Start again." "Absolutely." He finished his tea and rose to his feet, collecting the two mugs before washing them, drying them, and putting them away. "Well, I better be going." Tom said, with a sniff that was either dismissive or due to the crying. The man's composure had returned. "I had a lovely time today, in spite of things." He ducked out of the doorframe and turned as she saw him out. She looked up into kind eyes that were hooded but somehow etched with feeling. Her shield of practicality fell for a moment and a charged moment drew out. Natalie looked away, taken aback by the odd sensation this bereaved, shaven-headed man had sparked in her. "I don't know what to say, but it feels like I should say something." He said. His brother had died today. They'd been having coffee when he got the call. Hysterical, she'd shepherded him to safety. "I know what you mean." Natalie said. Tom glanced up nervously, breaking the eeriness of the moment. "Bye, Natalie. I'll message you, if that's OK?." She nodded, and he left. Natalie swung the door shut and pulled the sleeves of her woolen jumper over her hands. She stood in the hallway, eyes unfocused, thinking, then switched off the lights and went to bed.


Gregori tossed and turned impatiently in his cot. Even though the pain had subsided, if he wasn’t seen by a doctor soon he knew he would die. He had spent the past hour trying to get a doctor, a surgeon, or even a nurse’s attention. The entire field hospital was flooded with wounded and dying soldiers like himself and they paid no attention to him as they walked past him. “Hey!” He would shout to anyone who passed his bed and “Can you even hear me, my leg’s been bleeding for half an hour now!” Yet to no avail. No one had even noticed him until a man in a dark suit passed by his cot and he called out to him “Aren’t you going to help me?!” To his surprise, the man in the dark suit stopped and turned directly toward him. “You haven’t been seen yet?” The response annoyed Gregori. “No.” He answered. “Aren’t you going to help me out doc?” The man only sighed as he walked over and spoke angrily “I’m not a doctor but I’ll help you”. He said as he walked over to him and pulled out a pen and notepad. Gregori sighed in relief. Though this man didn’t even look like he was with the hospital or the military he was glad at least someone cared. “Anyways”. The man said. “I’ve been busy all morning so I haven’t got your information down besides the obvious. What’s your name?” Gregori then nodded “em Gregori Tabov Sir.” He said not sure what to address him as. The man then nodded and jotted it down on a notepad. “You’re from Vespool aren’t you?” He asked. Gregori was taken back by this “That’s correct. How did you know?” The man then stopped. “Your entire regiment is from there it was a lucky guess”. Gregori then nodded “Alright, are you a chaplain or something I don’t understand?” The man shook his head “Look I’m sort of busy. Someone can explain when you go to the next place. You were hit in the upper thigh correct?” Gregori then nodded and felt his cold leg “That’s correct. Look no offense but can you find me a surgeon? I’ve been laying in this cot too long and I’ve had too many friends who went out just like this”. The man then looked up from his notepad and stared at his leg for only a moment and spoke with certainty. “You won’t need a surgeon, also you were a believer in our Lord and savior weren’t you?” Gregori to this became annoyed “Well of course. I’ve always been a God-fearing man. But I have to tell you I’m not in the mood to be talking to some kind of chaplain, no offense”. The man then finished his notes and stuck them into his jacket “I’m not a chaplain.” He said. “Anyways I’ll come by to pick you up in a minute here. I have to help one of your old friends down the hallway. He took a bullet between his eyes”. The man then tried to turn and leave but Gregori stopped him “wait! What the Hell are you doing? I can’t even feel my leg anymore, everyone in this whole place has ignored me but you and I can’t even get a straight answer on what’s going to happen to me.” The man then frowned. “You don’t know?” He asked. Gregori then sighed “Know what?” The man then spoke with a stern voice “You died fifteen minutes ago.” Gregori then blinked and stared at him for a moment and then lifted the blankets to reveal the cot was soaked in dry blood and he noticed his skin was almost completely pale. “What.. what happens now then?” The man then nodded “Well like I said you’re coming with me to the next place.. and when you’re there we’ll see how much of a God-fearing man you really were.


The Archipelago publishes every Wednesday. See the pinned comment for links to the contents. \ I knew I was safe. Nothing more. Days came and went where I could only stay awake for a few minutes. I couldn’t find the energy to speak, or move. My world was just thin moments of consciousness spread amongst nothingness. Time was detached. I was dying on an uninhabited island, and now I lived through moments of consciousness on the Deer Drum boat. To me, it was instant. In reality, it was likely weeks. The moments of wake kept lasting longer, until I came to with a greater degree of strength. I peeled my eyes open to Xander sitting in a chair reading a book. For the first time, I could feel the nerves in limbs come to life, primed with that impulse to use my muscles. I twitched my arms. They moved. Snaking my back, I writhed, pulling myself up in the bed. Xander broke from his reading and ran to my side. “Careful. Take it easy.” I tried to speak, but my throat was croaky, and only the middle parts of words came out cleanly. “…fine. Just getting comfy…” “Gentle now. You’re lucky to be alive.” Xander reached behind my back and repositioned a pillow. “…how…” Words struggled to escape. “…get here?” Xander understood. He walked to the edge of the bed and sat down, grinning with relief and pride. “We found you on that island. You were in a bad way. Hardly conscious. Didn’t seem to recognize us.” “…why…” I stopped, my throat to dry. Xander leaned over and passed me a glass of water. I tried to hold it, but Xander refused to let go. He held it to my lips and let the water trickle into my mouth as my palms feigned grip on the tumbler. I swallowed the water and my larynx croaked again. “Why were you looking?” “Alessia got hold of us. Sent us off searching for you while her boat was repaired.” I jolted, my heart lifting my whole frame. “Alessia?” The words caught my throat, and I was overcome by a coughing fit. My back arched as my dry lungs heaved up barren air. “She’s fine,” Xander said, placing an arm on my shoulder. “Little storm wouldn’t stop her.” He waited until my coughing subsided and I leaned back against the bed frame. “Is she here?” I glanced around the room in vain hope. Xander shook his head. “We just got a message to search the western Anmanion Islands for you. She was going to get her boat fixed, and then go look for you at the rest of the Anmanions. Said she’d catch up to us at Vexids Receives.” My head leaned back in the bed, my shoulders slumped. Xander noticed. “I imagine you were worried about her.” I didn’t respond. Since the confession to myself on the Anmanion Islands, I wasn’t quite sure how to speak about Alessia lest the secret spill to others. My eyes glanced to the side, refusing to meet Xander’s. He nodded, seemingly reading me already. “You two are close. Ever since she arrived on Deer Drum you two always looked to each other. Not sure how you’d cope without her, or her you.” The corner of his lips flickered upwards. “I know she’ll have been worried about you too.” My face flinched against my own wishes, but I tried to keep the thoughts to myself. “How long till we reach Vexids Receives?” “Already here. Got in last night.” He stood back up and looked towards the door. “You need to rest. But before you fall asleep again, I’m going to find Eir. She’ll want to check you over.” Almost the moment he left I fell asleep again. But lightly now, enough that the sound of a cane thudding against hardwood floors woke me from my slumber. Eir semed more frail than she had been. Her movements were slow, and she leaned heavily on the cane with each step. As she grinned at me, smug with her skills, I could see the folds on her face roll over each other. “How do you feel?” She said, her voice almost as hoarse as mine. “Fine.” I croaked. She looked at me, her head tilted down. “I feel like I died.” I corrected. “You nearly did,” she chuckled. She leaned her hands down and touched my head, then my neck, then undid the top few buttons of my shirt to check my chest. Her hands felt cold, the blood not quite reaching the tips of her fingers anymore, and there was a slight tremble to her movements. Despite being one of the most certain about leaving Deer Drum, I suspected that this new life was not for her. It was a decision made for the next generation. She began pressing on my abdomen, asking me to tell her what did and didn’t hurt. “I told the others you had about a fifty percent chance of making it. But I said that trying to give them hope. In reality it was much worse than that.” She frowned, deep lines running across her brow. “So trust me when I say you need to rest. You understand?” I let out a grimace as she prodded into my sides. “Pain around your kidneys.” She nodded to herself. “Dehydration. We’ll be sure to make you drink lots.” “When can I leave the ship?” I asked. “Whatever for?” She scrunched her face. I strained a smile, hoping charm and blood rushing to my cheeks would convince her of my health. “To explore. See the island.” “Good grief.” The words came out in a groan. “You did hear when I said you nearly died?” I nodded. “Normally, I’d say not for another week,” she said.. “But I’ve seen what you get up to out there. So I’d say two weeks at least.” She stood back up and began shuffling towards the door. “In the meantime, rest. You’ll feel better for it” Part of me was determined to prove her wrong, and I spent the next few days willing my body to heal as fast as it could. I began taking tentative steps around my room, building up the strength in my legs. Soon I could venture unaided down the length of the corridor, traipsing the winding halls of the hull. However, as I continued my limbering walks around the boat, I was aware that it wasn’t just a desire to explore than meant I spurned relaxation. I didn’t want to admit it, it was a thought shrouded in illogicality and vanity, but I didn’t want Alessia to see me like this. Weak. Infirm. My skin pallid, and my muscles wasted away. Not that I was ever strong or masculine or that I thought I could fool her for a second as to my physical state. But that confession on the stony beach was playing tricks on my mind, making me think and act foolishly. And now, there was a small voice in my head telling me that any day now, her boat would appear on the horizon, and I needed to look my best. I needed to look like I hadn’t nearly died, alone and unable to make it by myself. I constantly caught myself simultaneously hoping Alessia would arrive, and also wanting her to give me more time. So when Kurbani came by my room, and I asked her if there was any news, I wasn’t even sure what answer I wanted her to give. “No. Not yet.” She smiled. “Lot of islands she’ll be checking for you. Give her time.” I nodded. It still hurt to talk and so I kept words to a minimum. Thankfully, I learned from Kurbani’s previous visits, that she was happy to fill the silence, keeping me informed of the other islanders, the new refugees from Granite Vowhorn, and the places they’d visited. I was grateful. Although I physically needed to recover, the loneliness from being stranded needed healing too. To experience another voice speaking at me, to make eye contact, to feel the muscles in my face react to another’s movements and words - this was all part of my rehabilitation. “I hear Novak has been keeping you entertained down here.” “He has.” “He’s gotten a lot better these past couple of months. He practises everyday. He’s determined. I think it helps him process what happened, to Lachlann and back on Deer Drum.” She paused a moment, her own memories running past her eyes. “He’s been trying to learn to play the nightingale song, but he can’t quite get the hang of it. Still a bit too complex. I hope he’s not been bothering you?” I shook my head. “Good. He looks up to you. A lot. Both the kids do. And I think Novak’s enjoying having you captive.” She laughed to herself. “I’m sorry you’ve not seen much of Mirai.” “It’s okay.” I whispered. “She’s been off on the island every day since we got here. I think she’s gone a bit stir crazy on the boat. She’d usually try and set foot on every island. But we’ve hardly seen her since we got here. Wakes up at the crack of dawn, eats breakfast, and then we don’t see her till sunset.” “She likes it here, you think?” I said, leaning forward. “She seems happy as a pig in shit.” She shrugged. “I’ll make sure she comes by soon though. It’s rude of her not to stop by more. Girl could do with learning some manners” Mirai didn’t visit; the invalid man deemed less interesting than whatever the island had to offer. I didn’t blame her. I wanted to be out there too. And Mirai’s absence, her change in behaviour, just made me want to visit all the more. I counted down the days on Eir’s timeline till on the fourteenth day, I rose early, and made my way to the deck. I puffed out my chest, and held my back straight. I marched up the steps through the hull, and opened the doors to the deck to find Eir sitting on a crate, hands resting on her cane. “Wondered how long it would take you to clamber up this morning.” I grinned. “You said two weeks.” “At least,” she grumbled. “Still. You’ve got your physical strength and your mental strength. Don’t think I could stop you if I wanted to.” “I feel good,” I said, looking down at myself, focussing on the strength in my core and ignoring the weakness in my limbs “I’d rather you spent a few more days. But at least take it slow and steady, okay?” “I will,” I said with a smirk. “I mean it, Ferdinand.” The smile disappeared from my face. “I know.” I looked out to sea, across the empty horizon. “Any word from Alessia?” She shook her head, her neck seeming to creak with the movement. “Don’t know how long it will take her to search those remaining islands for you. She’s probably terrified for you. Doesn’t know you’re here disobeying my medical advice instead.” My head dipped as a small embarrassed chuckle escaped me. “You said two weeks.” “At least,” she repeated. “Be cautious.” I walked over to the side of the boat and stared at the sea just in case Alessia’s ship was on the horizon. I could see a few boats out in the distance. None of them were her. Even from miles away I would know the cut of that hull. I took a deep breath of the salty air, feeling it cleanse my lungs. I was still processing the visions as I lay dying on the Anmanion Islands. I knew they weren’t real, just hazy thoughts halfway between sleep and death, but the emotions within, and the way it left me thinking of things differently, that was still true. Lachlann and Thomas, good friends, were gone. Lachlann would never learn how tightly Novak had clung to his guitar. Thomas would never know that he was right, and that the papers proving Pomafauc’s con were loose on the island. The story, for them, ended. And what could I do but try and continue? I still had my own story to write. And they would forever be an important part of mine. I turned to the island. There was one great rocky hill in the middle with large cliffs sticking out the ground covered in resilient green shrubs. But elsewhere, the island seemed mostly flat, with only gentle slopes. Perfect for still recovering legs. I found the netting down to the rowing boat, and checking the strength of my legs, climbed down the ropes, ready to see Vexids Receives for myself. \ The Archipelago publishes every Wednesday. See the pinned comment for links to the contents.


“His name is Benny.” Samantha explained to her great-grandson, little Sammy. The toddler’s small fingers poked the side of the faded, mangled stuff animal. As much as Samantha tried to repair Benny over the years, time, and the affection of her children and grandchildren, had taken a toll on the beloved toy. “My mother, your great-great-grandmother, passed away a few weeks before I started high school. I was lost in the months that followed. Then my dear friend Benny came into my life, and I knew I wasn’t alone.” She smiled sadly. She had told some variation of the story to members of the family over decades and generations. “When you feel sad about your daddy, just give Benny a tight squeeze, and Benny will help you.” Samantha touched the toddler’s cheek lightly. Little Sammy did not say anything in reply, he just squeezed the stuffed animal tightly and nodded to his great-grandmother. “Memaw, are you sure? Sam might not be gentle with Benny.” Beth vocalized her concerns. Samantha smiled at her granddaughter. “Benny has already served me well. Now there’s a new child who could use his help.” Samantha responded. The grandmother and granddaughter exchanged a knowing look. The change in little Sammy’s demeanor since his father left was noticeable. Beth had done her best to play the role of both parents, and Walter had stepped in to help them both, but some things were difficult to explain to a child. Little Sammy smacked the plush against the side of Samantha’s chair. Beth looked to her grandmother as if to say, “are you really, really sure?” Samantha just smiled and nodded. Beth had not been gentle either when she used to play with Benny during visits, nor had Walter. Seeing how little Sammy smacked the plush against the chair made Samantha think about how she would love to beat Beth’s no-good-deadbeat-ex to a pulp, but alas, the man was difficult to find. Even if she could find the scoundrel, she wasn’t exactly in a fighting condition at her age. “Little Sammy, do you want to hear a secret?” Samantha asked. Little Sammy nodded yes. Samantha had Beth pick up the boy and set him in her lap. Samantha whispered into little Sammy’s ear. “I used to have a real pet dragon.” As she whispered the words, the boy’s eyes went wide. Ah, the wonders of childhood, she thought, a time when the mind is not yet closed to the possibility of fantastic truths. Samantha smiled, knowing only she and her late father knew it was true. She thought back to those days. The sound of Hound Dog by Elvis Presley blared on the radio. Samantha danced around in her room, Benvolio stood up on two legs, swaying with the music and swishing his tail. He was getting bigger, having more than doubled his size in the last three months. At 18 inches long, he was too big for his old enclosure. The wings on his back were becoming more pronounced. Samantha’s dad shrugged and attributed it to some sort of deformation or mutation, but the truth was becoming harder to ignore. Samantha’s dad rapped on the door and asked her to quiet down. Samantha turned off the music and walked over to the dresser where she had a book on standby. “I have a new book for us today; we are going to read *The Hobbit*.” She lifted the book. “I haven’t read it yet, but everyone says it’s really good.” Benvolio lifted his wings in interest. Samantha picked him up and plopped down on the bed. She sat with one arm around Benvolio and the book propped up on some pillows. They began the journey to Middle-earth together. Over the last few months together Samantha had noticed a change in Benvolio when she read. When Benvolio first came home with her, he seemed to react only to the pitch and tone of her voice. Lately, he seemed to recognize the words she spoke, reacting to them. Benvolio swished his tail joyfully as Samantha read the scene where the Dwarves showed up unexpectedly at Bilbo’s home. She chuckled and lightly bopped his snout with her finger. As the story progressed Benvolio’s mood changed. When the characters in the story began to talk about slaying the dragon, Benvolio snarled and shook his head in protest, as though angered by the events in the story. Samantha stopped reading, realizing too late how the subject matter might be offensive to Benvolio. Benvolio’s scales felt hot to the touch, causing Samantha to loosen her hold on him. That is when it happened. As if by a sneeze or cough, a tiny ball of flame erupted from Benvolio’s mouth and ignited the pages of the book. Samantha yelped in fright as a fire spread to the pillow beneath the book. She jumped up, instinctively scooping up Benvolio who was still hot to the touch. Samantha’s father barged into her room to find her furiously trying to put out the fire with a blanket. He ran out of the room and then returned with a bucket of water, extinguishing the flames and dousing Samantha’s bed. A startled Samantha and Benvolio both looked at the scorch marks on the bed. Samantha’s skin was red and blistering where she had handled the hot little dragon. Samantha’s dad fetched the first aid kit. He looked at Benvolio and then turned his eyes to Samantha. The look in his eyes was somber. “Sweetie, we need to talk.


I didn't mean to. I swear on my life. I swear on my pet rabbit's grave. I swear on my favorite pencil. I know that doesn't sound like a big deal, but I really, really loved my rabbit — and that pencil — so when I say I didn't mean to summon a demon into my kitchen, know that I mean it 100%. I am not the best cook in the world, but it being your birthday and all, I thought I would make something special. We've only known each other a few weeks, but I thought that a homemade dinner would be sweet, so I decided to consult my grandma's cookbook. Grandma was always a great cook, though, thinking about it now, I never remember her actually looking at this cookbook. My mom found it in the attic of grandma's house after she died. Mom knew I wasn't the strongest cook and hoped to help me "actually learn something useful." So there I was in the kitchen, following instructions exactly and not "making a mess of things" like Mom says, when I made a mess of things. A great, thick cloud of swirling red and black smoke burst from the pot until it swallowed the room. My eyes and nose stung. My lungs felt heavy and tight. "What the hell?" I heard, and then the sound of a single snap. The pot sucked the smoke back into the pot and revealed a demon in the middle of the kitchen. His skin looked like cooled lava. Two horns slicked toward the back of his head. He turned his burning-ember eyes to me. "Who are you?" "I'm-I'm-I'm —" "Well, I'm-I'm-Im, what do you want? I was in the middle of something," he spat. "I didn't mean, I didn't... I'm so sorry." He snarled, "Are you saying you didn't mean to summon me?" I nodded. He growled. A great wave of heat emanated from his body and pricked at my skin. The demon snapped his fingers. He blinked, confused. He snapped his fingers again. Then again. Then once more. "Oh ho ho, is this a trick? Lucifer, is that you?" The demon grabbed my face with his talon-tipped fingers and inspected it. "Francis," I mumbled, my cheeks squeezed in his pincer grip. "What?" "My name is Francis." His eyes narrowed. "Well, *Francis,"* he said, spitting out my name like a wad of congealed phlegm, "why don't you stop playing games and let me go home?" I felt myself shrink. I was the silly girl who couldn't do anything right. I was the one who messed everything up. I was the "mistake." Years of fury coiled around my heart and lashed out. I shoved the demon back. "I don't even want you here. You're meant to be pasta bolognese!" "Pasta...? Are you kidding me?" the demon said. "You were going to make pasta bolognese with tomatillos?" Years of fury recoiled and then extinguished into a sad ash pile of embarrassment. "I thought they were just special tomatoes..." "Oh Francis," the demon said. "Oh Francis, no." He rubbed his temples with his fingers. The tension dissipated from his shoulders as the kitchen's temperature dropped several degrees. "You're not a real witch, are you?" He looked me up and down. "Hmm. Of course you aren't." He snapped his fingers, and instead of a lava-skinned demon, he transformed into a normal-skin-skinned human. "Follow me." "What? No, it's my girlfriend's birthday, and I'm... well, we're not 'official,' but she seems really great and I —" "Look," the demon cut me off. "I want to go home, and for some reason, I can't. And you seem to have some untapped talent in witchcraft —" I perked up. "I have a talent?" "In *witchcraft.*" the demon repeated. "*Witchcraft* being the more interesting word in that sentence." "Right. Sorry." The demon walked up to me and looked me dead in the eye. "Francis, you're my best shot at going home. I need your help." I glanced at the opened box of pasta, the sliced onions, and the half-chopped pile of tomatillos, and then turned back to the demon. "Ok." "Good," the demon said, straightening and heading for the door, "because if you said 'no' I would have turned your hands into spiders." I tucked my hands into my pockets before realizing if I was going to go on some quest with a demon on your birthday that I should at least write you a note to explain why I couldn't show up. I've ordered you a pizza with roasted red peppers, mushrooms, and definitely no olives (since you said they remind you of "sliced eyeballs") that should show up to your doorstep any minute. I hope that makes up for this last minute cancellation. I would greatly like to celebrate your birthday when I return if you're open to that. Anyway, I better run. I'm going to become a witch.


Admittedly, this wasn't great. I stared at the cobwebbed ceiling of the basement as tremendous strikes of agony coursed across my back like a pissed-off thunderstorm. I suppose it was good that I was feeling something instead of nothing. I wiggled my toes — Jesus, stupid, ah, dammit, ow — and yes, they worked, despite the pain. Perhaps I should have waited for the kids to come home before venturing into the basement that I hate with all my heart and soul and that I'm honestly terrified of. It is filled with dust, spiderwebs, and bad memories. Oh, and the serving ware. I just had to store the serving ware down here instead of optimizing my kitchen cabinets so everything could fit. I made a mental note to clean the cabinets, assuming I would walk again. The kids think I'm ridiculous for hating the basement so much. They think I just hate dark places, or that being around their dad's stuff makes me sad, but they don't know what I know — and I'm thankful for that. There's things kids shouldn't know. They laugh at me when I send them down into the basement to grab things, and I suppose I wanted to prove to them and to myself that I was just as ridiculous as they said. There's nothing down here but poorly-placed serving ware. It took me 30 minutes to gain the courage to open the basement door. It took me another ten to step onto the stairs. Then, another 15 to scurry down the steps like a frightened rat, race past my husband's old collectibles, snatch the serving ware from the cabinet, and bolt back up the stairs. It took 0.05 seconds from my foot slipping on the top step to the realization that there was nothing I could do to stop my fall, and 5 seconds for me to I tumble backwards down the steps into the cursed darkness once more. I really needed to optimize the kitchen cabinets. "Cathy?" I heard. It was a grating whisper, a voice drawn across sandpaper. I closed my eyes. *It's not real. It's not real. It's not real.* "Cathy... you're here." *Not real. Not real. Not real.* "Cathy, I'm so sorry. Please look at me." *Not real. Not real.* "Cathy, please. I'm so lonely." *Go away. Go away.* An icy breath cooled my ear, "I know you can hear me." "Leave me alone," I murmured. I kept my eyes closed. I've never looked at it, whatever "it" is. Something primal in my chest tells me it's a bad idea — the same primal knowledge that screams for me to run, flee, hide, get the hell away. My back seizes up in pain. I can't move. "I just want to go home..." The voice sounded so sad and pitiful that I almost crack. "Won't you help me go home?" it said. My maternal instincts yearned to comfort, despite the fear and agony clouding each fiber of my body. "I just need you to look at me." One look couldn't hurt, could it? "Open your eyes, Cathy." Maybe if I helped it go home, it will leave me alone forever... "MOM! Did you pick up more snacks? My friends will be over in 10 minutes!" my daughter Olivia called. The front door slammed behind her. My heart leapt. I promised to never criticize her for slamming doors ever again. "Down here!" I yelled. I heard the top of the steps creak as Olivia finally saw me. "Jesus, Mom! Are you okay?" *I am now,* I thought as I felt Olivia's warm hands on my arm, as I heard her call an ambulance. The coldness retreated to the corners of the basement, but I could feel it watching. Waiting. One day I would crack. One day I would open my eyes and look.