5
“Now you really have made a mess of things this time.”
The tall grass caresses the figures
as they stand above the sleeping boy. The world has condensed. They now stand
in a patch of grass. In a ring of trees. Tucked in the folds of the earth. The
midday sunlight streaming through the trees is now replaced with the golden
glow of the later day sun. The light comes at a twenty-degree angle casting
long shadows for trees no longer present.
The watchers number at two. Firstly,
the girl in white, arm swathed in crimson. At her side stands a three-foot tall
stuffed Where’s Waldo doll.
The boy is Yew. He lies on his face.
The grass pushes at his clothes; attempting to grow around this sudden
obstruction. Droplets of his blood fleck the ground around him and create
dappled patterns on the trees.
“Nothing is amiss Puppet. I have
taken us under the Fold. I have time to clean this up. He will remember nothing
and Humbaba will have little reason to think I removed his seal… I trust you’ll
say nothing?”
“It is stable. Because he therefore
exists I shant discuss this case; this, such evaluated model of disobedience,
will not part my seams upon return from this time below the ear of the dog. But
tell please; why all the risk over this Ninsunian man-born? He has already
proven his uselessness.”
The girl steps forward and kneels
down beside Yew. Her fingers slip below her folds of white. Fabric the color of
her skin peels away easily. The fabric tears cleanly along the grain of the
cloth, leaving the hem even all the way around. Closer inspection would show the
dress had been torn before and the edge is un-hemmed but somehow without signs
of fraying.
“He shows some potential. He found his way back even after
Humbaba cast him out. Besides, if he is useless, why has Atria already tried
pulling him back into her company? His role will become evident in time.”
She lifts the boy’s bloodstained hand into her lap. His
palm is a web of red congealing in the grain of his flesh. His arm looks oddly
pale compared to the rest of his exposed skin. The blood comes away easily. Her
tender touch exposes more then apathy in her intents. Their history is
momentarily their present. He is a small boy once again and she a young girl
with ageless eyes. Her hands work carefully until all that remains is a small
red patch in the middle of his palm. She sighs before taking a clean stretch of
cloth and wiping away this blotch. Yew’s limp body momentarily tenses up before
falling still again. It isn’t much, but it is enough to break the illusion. She
sighs again as she cleans the last of the blood off the young man’s cut. They
are again strangers that happen to share a brief chunk of history.
“It was supposed to be him. I was so sure,” she half thinks
and half says this. The product being an inaudible sigh of air between twitching
lips.
She then takes the rag to her own arm. The drips streaking
up her arm seem to have aged at a rapid pace. The blood is dark and crusted
over. Cracks spread across the surface where the skin stretches and pulls it
apart. The blood comes off in flakes as she wipes off her arm and hand. They
drift lazily to the ground where they crumble to dust. Her pallid skin is
faintly stained a faded red along the path of the droplets. A faint warm glove
that extends up her arm.
Puppet walks around her left for a better look. “How are
you going to explain that? The master will be curious about that.” He reaches
out one of his rounded fingerless cloth hands and rubs a few flaking droplets
off the nearest tree. The bark is also stained a light pink under the scabs of
blood.
“I’ll find a way. Leave the trees for now help me roll him
over.”
Puppet shambles over to Yew’s right. Fingers unfurl from
his stumpish arms as if they had been there the whole time. They are knobby
with skin like rough bark on the dark backs. The underside is a rusty brown
with a swirling line pattern. He stretches his new fingers like they fell
asleep and he is trying to wake them back up. He slides his fingers under the
boy’s shoulder and braces his roots into the black soil. The girl lifts the boy’s
waist and together they roll him over onto his back. She pulls his other arm
out from under him where it has become trapped.
His cheek has a thin cut on it from his limp, unguarded,
collapse to the forest floor. He lacked the awareness to even raise a hand to
soften his fall. She uses the last bit of clean cloth to wipe away this fresh
crimson.
“You can’t keep this Fold tucked to much longer without
drawing unwanted attention. You can’t sit here reminiscing all day. Leave him
to me. You have to see to the other,” the whisper is in her ear and she can’t
help cringing. The flitting nature of her current companion has never settled
well with her.
“You’re right. See to it that the trees are wiped down
before he awakes?” She stands up and backs away from Yew’s unconscious form.
“Indeed. Hurry now. The longer you wait the more lost the
other may become.” Puppet scrambles on all fours across the ground to a stone
near the boy’s feet.
“Please put those fingers away. If you look like that when
he awakes I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t just run home weeping. He will not
remember you so don’t make to many changes at first. He needs to warm up to our
kind again. Don’t forget why you took the form of that stuffed toy in the first
place.”
Suddenly the world expands again. The sun is again high
above them casting dappled light down on the scene. A breeze ruffles the boy’s
hair and it is now very apparent that just a moment ago this small part of the
world was completely void of wind. The speckled blood on the trees flakes off
in the rekindled breeze.
“Take him to the city but don’t go by Atria’s. Go through
the Wallow and in the back way.” And with that she was gone into the tall grass
and trees.
The little stuffed man turned his two large round eyes back
to the boy laying prone on the ground.
“You’re back indeed.”
