Three monks lifted Virgil Blue from their wheelchair onto the podium. The silver mask’s bird-beak hardly moved with the ancient monk’s long breath. Under the mask and navy robes, Faith saw not a single inch of skin. The suggestion of folded hands in their sleeves was her only clue someone sat beneath the cloth.

True to their introduction, Virgil Blue remained silent. A murmur crept through the sparse audience. In the front rows, the congregation crossed their legs and focused.

Faith shrugged. “That’s a cool mask. BeatBax would like it, she loves birds.”

“Quiet,” said her uncle. He squinted into the mask’s buggy eyes. “Are you getting this, Faith?”

“Huh?” Faith saw her uncle’s glassy stare. He was lost, now, in the bird. A hush blanketed the lecture-hall as the silver mask entranced the spectators. Faith sighed and clasped her hands on her knee. “I don’t see what the big deal is.”

Her uncle tried to shush her with a raised finger, but couldn’t muster the effort. He just stared at the Blue Virgil.

Faith rocked in her chair. “I’ll wait for you outside. I wanna look at the trees.”

Outside the lecture-hall, Faith kicked off her shoes and bounded to a fence by the cliff to enjoy the forest spread below her. Clouds cast drifting shadows on the treetops. Trees and clouds alike bent to the breeze.

Behind her, the lecture-hall doors opened again. The elderly sky-clad monk pointed the spotted end of his cane to the summits of the Bighorn Mountains. “These peaks aren’t half bad,” he said. “Not bad at all.” Faith wasn’t sure how to react, so she watched him amble to the fence beside her. He saw through the mountains to a horizon only he could detect.

“I’m sorry I left your teacher’s lecture,” she said.

“It’s alright. Virgil Blue is an acquired taste.” The monk brushed his robes. “My name is Virgil Skyy. You can call me Jango.”

“Jango?” Faith smiled and curled white-blonde hair around her finger. “My friend Jilli has a cat named Django.”

“There are no coincidences. Such simultaneity is a message from the Mountain,” said Virgil Jango Skyy. “A similar message brought us here today. We live on the Islands of Sheridan, so a trip to Sheridan, Wyoming was inevitable.”

Faith nodded but turned away. She watched a deer bounce over rivers and rocks. “I don’t want to burst your bubble, but there are lots of Sheridans. It’s a common city-name, like Springfield.”

“Wyoming’s Sheridan has the highest elevation. Indeed, these mountains represent an admirable effort.” He stuck his cane in the grass. “But Virgil Blue’s monastery is on the main island of Sheridan, and I swear, it’s twice the height. You can’t see its peak.”

“Is that where the birds live?” Faith leaned on the fence and fished the brochure from her purse. She showed Jango the photo of the little flightless birds. “They’re adorable!”

Jango shivered and stuck a finger in his mouth.

Faith hid the brochure. “Is something wrong?”

“Those fledglings are sacred,” he said. “Their photography is forbidden. It’s not your fault—you didn’t take the picture, and it’s superstition in any case. But when tourists visit our islands, we remind them to photograph anything but the birds.”

“Gosh, sorry. I just have this friend who loves birds. Why are they sacred?”

Jango’s lips found a sideways smile. “In Sheridan we tell a story: the Biggest Bird birthed the islands and taught her people how to live there.”

“I like stories.” Faith laughed. “Tell me a story!”

“Do you think I came halfway across the planet to hand you the secrets of reality?” He bent his cane at her. “You want the monk treatment, be a monk!”

“Sheesh, alright,” said Faith. “Sorry Jangster.”

Jango shook his head and turned to the forest. “Young lady, is your name, by chance, Faith Featherway?”

“Um. Yes.” Faith checked her blouse for a name-tag. “How’d you know?”

“Look.” He pointed his cane over the fence at a white fox skulking a mountainside.

Faith almost hurled herself off the cliff. “Oh my gosh! It has cute little whiskers!”

“You’ve got better eyes than mine, Ms. Featherway.” Jango laughed. He had two black irises, but one pupil held an island of gray plaque. “You won’t believe me, but we’ve met once before. You wouldn’t remember.”

“Hm?” Faith tilted her head at Jango without looking from the fox. “No, I don’t remember.”

“I owe you a favor.” Jango shook his sleeve and an object fell into his hand. “This should make us even. You wouldn’t believe how I got it through customs.”

“Oh! I always wanted to try one of these!” Faith took the cricket and spun it in her fingers. Its wings were tightly twisted around its body. The stem sticking from its abdomen acted as a natural filter. “A guy at my school sells these, but his don’t look nearly as nice.”

Virgil Skyy pursed his lips. “On Sheridan, crickets are revered as a link to the Biggest Bird meant only for the islands. I hesitated even to bring one for you. But if this man shows people the Mountain, so be it.” He shook his other sleeve and a white lighter fell into his hand. “Allow me the first puff. Cricket-eyes can overwhelm the uninitiated.”

Faith watched Jango put the stem in his mouth and light the ten beady eyes on fire. He puffed a cloud over the forest and passed the insect back to her. “You know, you speak great English for a native from an isolated South Pacific island.”

“I live on the Islands of Sheridan, but I was born in Kansas City.” Virgil Jango Skyy guided her inhalation with his hands like he was helping her parallel park. “I didn’t meet Virgil Blue until my mid-thirties. Back then you couldn’t get bug-sticks in America. Virgil Blue taught me to smoke them in person.”

“Whoa!” Faith coughed a cloud over the fence. Sshe passed the cricket back hacking and spitting. “You mean Virgil Blue smokes bug-sticks too? I figured they were like a thousand years old.”

“Older. Virgil Blue is a title stretching back to the Biggest Bird. Today’s Virgil Blue is two hundred years young. Only the Blue Virgil is holy enough to prepare centipede, which practiced laypeople consume to join the congregation.”

She watched him finish the cricket and tap the ash into a trashcan. “I’d never smoke centipede,” said Faith. “Too many legs—so creepy! Maybe someday.”

“I don’t suppose your friend with the sunglasses sells centipedes, too?”

“He says he wants to, but I wouldn’t call him a friend.”

Jango nodded. “It’s always a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Featherway. I hear Virgil Blue concluding their silent lesson, so I must retrieve them from the podium.” He passed her a red card-stock pamphlet. “I’m sure you and your friends will find this pamphlet enlightening.”

She took the pamphlet. On the front, a hand-drawn bird like a penguin bigger than an ostrich sheltered fist-sized fledglings with its wings. Inside was taped a plastic-baggie of brown powder like coffee-grounds. “What’s this?”

Virgil Jango Skyy was gone.

Written in pen beside the baggie: ‘Powdered centipede isn’t so creepy, is it? An introduction to Sheridan from Virgils Skyy and Blue.’

Next Section
Commentary

The LuLu’s theme played over the end credits. A minor chord introduced an image of a Hurricane Planet. This blood-colored space-orb of biological and mechanical parts swallowed stars and smacked spaceships from the sky. Scarlet spots speckled the black background of space—another trillion planets like it or larger. Each was a single cell of the cosmic horror called the Hurricane.

Jay squinted at the credits, but the names of artists and animators squirmed and resisted interpretation. “Faith, I think I’m having a stroke.”

“No, JayJay!” Faith bent backwards over the couch to stretch to her full length. “Being bug-eyed is making you paranoid. Just enjoy it!”

Jay licked his dry teeth. He reached for the remote and, struggling with the hieroglyphics, pressed the menu-button. “Oh, here’s the problem. The names are in Japanese. We watched the whole episode in Japanese. We didn’t even have subtitles on.”

“Ha!” Faith laughed until she ran out of breath. “I think I got the gist anyway. But that’s what happens on bug-sticks!”

After switching the language to English, Jay highlighted the next episode. He did not select it yet. “So, what’s up between you and Beatrice? Are you dating?”

“Well, yeah, but it’s complicated.” Faith looked away.

“She carries that bible everywhere,” said Jay. “Her family seems pretty religious. Does that make dating difficult?”

“You didn’t hear it from me,” said Faith, “but BeatBax breaks out the bible for unwanted male attention. She plays the pastor’s-daughter routine until suitors lose interest. In truth, she’s totally fine dating a girl and hiding it from her parents. We’ve even talked about smoking bug-sticks before.”

“So what’s complicated?”

“Dainty likes the pastor’s-daughter routine,” she sighed, “and I like Dainty. I wish dating was easy. I just wanna hold all my friends in a big cuddle-ball.” Jay held Faith’s hand. Faith squeezed back and smiled. “Crickets help you open up, sometimes.”

“You know a lot about crickets. Are you sure you haven’t smoked before?”

“What are you talking about?” Faith couldn’t tell lies while folded backward over the couch. Her poker-face broke and she giggled. “You caught me. I’ve smoked a bug-stick before, but just once, I swear. I wanted to share the experience with you.”

“It’s really something.” Jay searched for words to describe his mental state, but found none sufficient. He made sound-effects and exploding motions with his hands. “Where’d you smoke your first?”

Faith kicked the air. “You’ve met my uncle, right? He visited from Wyoming last semester.”

“Yeah, I remember,” said Jay. “He asked if I believed in aliens. He had quite a bit to say on the matter.”

“Well, he is the black sheep of the Featherways.”

“The inside of his fedora was lined with tinfoil.”

“Some people like tinfoil,” insisted Faith. “Anyway, I visited him last month in Sheridan, Wyoming and that’s where I smoked my first bug-stick.”

“Your uncle gave you a bug-stick?”

“No, no. Let me explain.”

---

“Smell that air?” Her uncle poked his head from the driver’s-side window. He secured his fedora against the wind with one hand and steered the truck with the other. “The higher we drive up the Bighorns, the fresher it gets!”

Faith only smelled exhaust from her uncle’s beat-up truck. Still, the mountains were beautiful, and melting snow encouraged greenery. The valleys below held the forest like a bowl of trees. “What are we doing up here?”

“Your mom made me promise I’d show you the college. Look, there it is!” He pointed at buildings dotting the mountainside near the border of Bighorn National Forest. “Pop the glove-box. There’s a bunch of public lectures today. Choose one that looks good.”

Faith opened the glove-box to find a brochure listing events at Sheridan Cliff-Side College. “Does SC-SC have an art-program?”

“I dunno. I mostly sit in the library to tell sorority-chicks about my theory.” He made a hairpin-turn at top speed.

“This lecture looks neat,” said Faith. “It’s a bunch of monks from Sheridan. I like how each monk has a different-colored robe.”

“What? There aren’t many monks here in Sheridan. Wyoming ain’t their style. You mean Indians? There are a couple Indian tribes in Sheridan.”

“Not Sheridan, Wyoming. A series of islands also called Sheridan—it’s hard to spot them on the world-map in the brochure. They’re tucked in the corner with New Zealand. The most isolated islands in the world, it says.” She showed him the brochure as they pulled into the parking-lot. “See? It says these cute flightless birds live only on the islands, and the monks consider them sacred.”

“I should give a lecture on religion. I’d blow the whole thing open.” Her uncle parked. “Did I ever tell you my theory?”

“Yes, you have,” Faith said firmly as they stepped from the truck.

“It just makes sense. All religions are cargo-cults. You know, cargo-cults. After we dropped aid on island-tribes in World War Two, they built fake airplanes out of scraps. They hoped statues would bring back the sky-gods. Right?”

“Okay, sure,” sighed Faith. They walked into a lecture-hall.

“So if aliens exist (and they do), and if they’ve been to earth (and they have), then that’s proof that all religions secretly worship aliens, and churches don’t even know it.” He tapped his temple and flashed Faith the tinfoil in his fedora. “You have to keep them out of your brain.”

“Cool,” said Faith, regarding not her uncle’s theory but the monks gathered near the stage. Male and female in roughly equal proportion, they each wore a robe of solid color. Some wore a cool color, some warm. None were below forty years old and some were over eighty or ninety. They had every variety of skin-color: bone-white, pitch-black, copper-brown, brick-red, yellow-tan, pink, or even so pale they looked blue. Most were bald.

Their leader sat cross-legged in a wheelchair. They wore a hooded navy robe and a silver mask. The mask had an embossed beak and two buggy eyes, like a watchful bird. The silver bird-mask surveyed the audience until another monk, an elderly man with robes like a clear sky, took the podium and addressed the crowd:

“Oran doran, doran dora. Thank you for allowing us to speak at Sheridan Cliff-Side College.” The elderly sky-clad monk leaned on a cane taller than himself, a curious object smooth along the shaft but with ten black spots encircling a gnarled top. “We come from a chain of islands called Sheridan, located between New Zealand, Chile, and Antarctica, a location named Point Nemo. The name Nemo, Latin for no-one, belies the solitude we enjoy on Earth’s most secluded islands. There we worship the birds, the plants, and the Mountain, though sometimes we worship nothing at all. It is my honor to introduce my teacher, and the teacher of all teachers, Virgil Blue. They will provide a silent lesson. Then we will leave and never return.”

Next Section
Commentary

“No matter.” The Enemy Hurricane redistributed mass to build a new thumb. “Wheel or no Wheel, I’ll end you just the same.”

Lucille smirked and bit her own thumb. “Ikuzo.”

At her command, the Galaxy Zephyr’s pink flesh stretched across space to engulf the Enemy Hurricane’s severed purple thumb. The combined volume returned to cocoon the Galaxy Zephyr. Now Lucille’s ten thousand pilots controlled a giant purple robot twenty orders of magnitude larger than the Milky Way had been. It wore pointed sunglasses like those of Lucille’s late father, Commander Bunjiro. Still, compared to the Enemy Hurricane, the Galaxy Zephyr was merely thumb-sized.

The Wheel increased in diameter to match their new height. Lucille pulled levers with both hands. “Eisu, Fumiko, advance!”

Steam poured from the Galaxy Zephyr’s feet, propelling it above light-speed. The Enemy Hurricane swatted with both arms and uncrossed its legs to kick with both feet, but the Galaxy Zephyr easily outmaneuvered those clumsy limbs. When Charlie and Daisuke saw the chance, they swung the Wheel to shave flesh from the Enemy Hurricane’s chest. The Galaxy Zephyr absorbed the flesh to become even larger.

“If we get much larger we won’t be so agile,” warned Daisuke. The Enemy Hurricane kicked at them.

“Ora!” Lucille smiled as they sliced the sole off the Enemy Hurricane’s foot. “If we get much larger we won’t need to be agile!”

They lingered too long absorbing the sole. The Enemy Hurricane stomped them. In space there was no floor to stomp them against, but the Enemy Hurricane’s gravitational pull alone squashed them against the foot. The Enemy Hurricane’s surface tore the Galaxy Zephyr with tentacles and chomped its limbs with giant mouths.

“Retreat!” shouted Lucille. Eisu and Fumiko pumped steam from the Galaxy Zephyr’s feet, but chomping teeth restrained them. Daisuke made the left hand blast steam from its palm and Charlie swept the Wheel to slice tentacles. At last the Galaxy Zephyr freed itself and fled from the Enemy Hurricane’s reach.

Lucille hid silent tears as she assessed the damage to her robot’s armor. Awful gashes ran light-years deep through its purple flesh. Bite-marks almost severed their legs at the thighs. Medical-personnel flew through the purple flesh tending to injured pilots, but who could heal the Galaxy Zephyr itself?

“Don’t worry,” said ZAP’s bird-pilot, speaking on behalf of Akayama. “I’ve updated our immune-system.” The giant robot’s wounds flooded with rivers of liquid gold which quickly set and solidified. The Galaxy Zephyr was repaired like a shattered and restored vase.

Lucille laughed and wiped her cheeks dry. “Daisuke, you were right. Getting bigger is slowing us down.”

“We just need to keep our distance from the Enemy Hurricane,” said Eisu.

“We’re getting used to its gravity, that’s all!” promised Fumiko.

Lucille wasn’t sure. “Bird-thing, how can we counteract sluggishness when we get bigger?”

“The bottleneck is our Hurricane Armor,” said ZAP’s bird-pilot. “Its merged mind has only a hundred pilots, and we’re spreading them thin. We can’t control our immense mass in a timely manner.”

“So our armor needs more pilots?” Lucille stared down the Enemy Hurricane advancing on them. “Minah. Any volunteers to be merged with our robot?”

“That’s won’t be necessary,” said the bird-pilot. “We’re already producing human simulacra, remember? They’ll be our new Zephyrs.”

Lucille looked at the spinning Wheel. “Sou da. We’ll add pilots to our armor as soon as we’ve made them. But how? What do we do?”

“Look closely.”

Lucille magnified the image on her main monitor. Her Wheel’s rim had blades like the teeth of a circular saw. As the Wheel spun, the blades spun too, but a silver circle near the rim remained stationary. “Charlie, Daisuke, turn the Wheel so its flat side faces me.”

Now Lucille saw the silver circle was the first link of a chain. The next link was half inside the Wheel, which seemed impossible, because the Wheel was almost two-dimensional and each link was light-years thick. “When you pull the Chain,” explained the bird-pilot, “I’ll send a potent specimen from Earth’s recreation to help pilot the Galaxy Zephyr.”

“Wakaru. I get it.”

The Enemy Hurricane spread its arms and clapped at the Galaxy Zephyr. Eisu and Fumiko barely propelled the robot to safety before the clap could crush them. Charlie and Daisuke swung the Wheel and sliced the tips off two fingers. The Galaxy Zephyr nabbed one fingertip, but the Enemy Hurricane claimed the other and reabsorbed it. “You’re a pesky little thing, aren’t you?” it asked with its eyes.

“Funny,” said Lucille, “I’d have said the same to you!”

“Escape this if you can!” The Enemy Hurricane melted its humanoid shape into a blob. The blob flattened into a sheet.

“What’s it doing?” asked Fumiko.

“It’s surrounding us,” said Eisu.

“It’s capturing us in a bubble,” said Daisuke.

“A bubble,” scoffed Charlie. “Doesn’t it know we could cut right out?”

“Not necessarily,” said Lucille. “Our Wheel’s only so wide. The Enemy Hurricane could be too thick to cut through in one swing, and it’ll be harder to attack the interior of a hollow sphere than an enormous human body.”

“What do we do?” asked Fumiko.

“We call reinforcements,” said Lucille. The Galaxy Zephyr held the Wheel in its left hand, and its right hand pulled the Chain.

Next Chapter
Commentary

The school-year was born in hot California Summer, and after a brief, parched Winter and a misty Spring, it threatened to die with the sweltering heat of its birth. Thankfully the end-of-the-year field-trip had great air-conditioning. An hour in the art-museum dried Jillian’s sweat from her forehead.

She studied the map in her brochure while Dan studied a painting. “Early 1300s, the Harrowing of Hell,” he recited without reading the placard. “After the crucifixion, Christ enters the underworld so triumphantly he crushes a demon under a door.” He tugged his shirt hem. Today his shirt featured Princess Lucia, a blue-haired space-robot-pilot in the year 2399. “My dad taught me about it.”

“Neat.” Jillian folded the map. “The next hall has sculptures. Over Winter-break, my dad brought me on business abroad, and I saw lots of museums. Look here.” She pointed to the brochure. “This museum has one of two decorative pillars. The other pillar is just like it, but mirrored. I saw it in Spain.”

“Oh, neat.” Dan swallowed and put his hands in his pockets. “Let’s double-back and find another way to the sculptures.”

Jillian cocked an eyebrow. “Why not finish this hall? I thought you liked these religious paintings.”

“I do.” Dan turned away. “But there’s a Bosch over there and I can’t look at it. Eternal torture makes me fidget.”

“You love Dante’s Inferno.”

“I can read about it. I can’t look at it.”

“We’ll just look at paintings on the other side of the hall.”

Dan shook his head. “You go on. I’ll take the long way around. Oh no,” he said mid-stride. Faith and Beatrice had entered the hallway. Beatrice sat across from a painting of the Virgin Mary while Faith tore paper from her notebook and folded it.

“What’s wrong?” asked Jillian. Dan stared silently at Beatrice. “Hey, this is your chance. You know all about that painting, right? Go impress her.”

Dan covered his mouth and looked at the floor. “I appreciate it, but that’s not an option.”

“I see the way you look at Beatrice, Dan. Tell her, `the artist used so-and-so technique to highlight Mary’s eyes. Looking at your eyes, Ms. Baxter, you must have been painted the same way.’ But less corny than that, obviously. Then ask her out and get it over with.”

“It’s not my place to ask her out,” said Dan.

Before Jillian could ask what he meant, Faith held two folded paper animals to Beatrice: a fox and a bird. Beatrice took the bird and they played with the animals together. The fox and bird touched muzzle to beak, and Faith kissed Beatrice on the cheek.

“Oh,” said Jillian. “Well, just move on, then.”

Faith spotted Dan and Jillian down the hallway. She pointed them out to Beatrice and the couple walked over holding hands. “I thought we’d find you here, Dainty. Talking Jilli’s ear off?”

“Ha, yeah,” Dan managed. He smiled at Beatrice, but when she looked away pointedly, he turned back to Faith. “Enjoying the museum?”

“We’re headed for the sculptures,” said Beatrice.

“Interested? Dainty? Jilli?” Faith pulled Beatrice behind her. “C’mon!” Jillian followed.

Dan stumbled after them. “Wait,” he said, “you’re skipping the best paintings!” Dan strode to an enormous landscape cluttered with nudes. “Like this Bosch. He’s famous for painting Hell.”

Faith and Beatrice hesitantly approached. Jillian winced as Dan made himself look at the canvas.

“Devils flay a man’s flesh,” said Dan, biting his fingernail. “Demons drop a woman in boiling tar.” He bit the skin around the nail until it bled. “A crowd screams inside the mouth of a giant head, but even that head is in agony, obviously one of the damned.”

“Geez. That’s pretty metal,” said Faith. “Let’s go see the sculptures, BeatBax.” As they all walked away, Faith released Beatrice’s hand and lingered to speak with Jillian. “Is Dainty okay?”

“He said he couldn’t even look at the Bosch,” said Jillian, “but I told him to impress you two by talking about a painting, and that’s the one he chose.”

“Huh.” Faith shrugged. “Who’s the girl on his shirt? She’s cute.”

“Oh, that’s Princess Lucia from LuLu’s Space-Time Acceleration. It’s an anime Dan and I like. Wanna watch it over the summer?”

---

Jillian inserted the last DVD. “Now that she’s got the Wheel, do you think Commander Lucille has a chance against the Enemy Hurricane?”

“Of course! The good guys always win in this sort of thing.” Faith bothered Django as the cat tried to sleep on the couch. “Right?”

“I’m afraid we’ll never know for sure. The show was canceled before the last episodes were made.” Jillian selected an episode. “Ready to watch?”

“Wait.” Faith played with the pink pads on Django’s paws. “Your parents are away, right, Jilli?” She looked up from Django’s toe-beans. “Do you want to try something naughty?”

Jillian blinked and paused the TV. “What do you mean?”

Faith pulled a cricket from the pocket of her torn jeans. Its wings were wrapped like mummy-linens. “I got this from the guy in our homeroom who always wears dark sunglasses. He says he smokes them all the time. They’re not dangerous at all. Shall we share a bug-stick?”

“Hm.” Jillian took the cricket and held it to her nose, as if by muscle memory. It smelled like spices. “What do we do? What’s it like being bug-eyed?”

“First we open a door so we don’t stink up the place, and then we light the eyes.” She sparked a purple lighter. “He said we’d see everything from a new perspective, and he couldn’t describe it any other way. He kept making sound-effects and exploding motions with his hands.”

Jillian passed back the cricket. “How about you smoke, and I watch?”

“But Jilli, I’m scared!” Faith laughed and wiggled her shoulders. “I hoped you could start it.”

Jillian sighed. On the TV, paused during the LuLu’s theme, ten thousand space-robot pilots crossed their arms across their chests. Together they directed their giant robot to cross its arms across its chest, the sum of their confidence. “You open the back door and I’ll light it.”

“Really? You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Pass it over.” Jillian took the cricket and lighter. Faith pranced to the back door and Django followed her.

“Djingo, Django, baked into a pie! Djingo, Django, wanna go outside?”

“Of course he does.” Jillian lit the cricket’s eyes on fire. Embers spread through the papery wings. “Now what?”

“Pretend you’re sucking a straw, just for a second.” Faith kicked the door open and Django hopped into the yard. “Keep the smoke in your open mouth until it cools. Then inhale, hold it, and exhale.”

Jillian sputtered smoke and bent over coughing. “Oh. Oh my gosh.” She held her head. “I feel it already.”

“Here, let me try.” Faith puffed smoke out the door. The cricket’s eyes cooled from cherry-red to ash-gray. “Oh, wow.”

“Faith, did I ever tell you…” Jillian rubbed her eyes. “I think I’m trans?”

“Trans?”

Jillian took another puff and clarified after coughing: “My first memory was a nightmare. In the nightmare, I was nude, and I had a dong. I was in a desert near a red mountain with a white fox, and a monster ate us. I’ve never talked about it, but I still feel male, through and through.”

“I’m glad you told me, then. That’s super interesting.” Faith’s last puff burned the cricket to its stem. She swayed, eyes unfocused. “Oh, I’m flying through time. Ha.” They both stared through the TV. “Do you have a new name lined up?”

“Jay,” said Jay.

“Jay Diaz-Jackson.” Faith grinned. “Start the episode, JayJay.”

Next Section
Commentary

Jillian crossed her arms as her mother pulled into the high-school parking-lot. The morning-bell rang and Jillian groaned. “New school, first day of Senior year, and I’m late for class.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t expect the traffic.” Camilla parked and unlocked the doors. “We’ll learn the streets soon, I promise.”

“It’s okay. I gotta go. It’s just…” Jillian stepped out and slipped her backpack over her shoulders. “I wish you’d listened when I said I didn’t want to move. I don’t know anyone in California.”

“I know. But moving to LA means your father can spend less time on an airplane and more time with you.” This didn’t make Jillian smile, so Camilla bit her lip and looked away. “Jilli, what’s that TV show you like?”

Jillian rubbed her forearm. “Which TV show?”

“The anime with giant robots.”

“Which anime with giant robots?”

“The big blue robot,” said Camilla. “Begins with an L sound?”

“Oh,” said Jillian, “LuLu’s Space-Time Acceleration. Why?”

“Look.” Camilla pointed at a student jogging to the school doors. When he stopped to stuff a bulky book in his backpack, Jillian saw a blue robot on his shirt. “Is that LuLu’s robot?”

“Huh.” Jillian giggled. “What a dweeb.”

“Don’t be mean. Maybe he can help find your homeroom.”

“Alright, alright.” Jillian waved goodbye and entered the school. She spotted the boy jogging down a hallway. The books in his backpack must have been heavy, because she caught up at a brisk walk. “Hey! Nice shirt.”

“Oh!” He jumped when she spoke. “Thanks. It’s from an anime I like.”

“I’m new here,” said Jillian. “Could you point me to Room 120?”

“That’s my homeroom too,” said the boy. “I’ll lead you there.”

In Room 120, one of the boy’s friends waved them to their table. She was just under four-foot-six with short white-blonde hair. The boy sat across from her and unloaded books from his backpack, but he never looked away from the other girl at the table, who had hair like maple-syrup dripping down her neck as she read a well-worn bible. Meanwhile the shorter girl picked at a white eraser with sharp fingernails, spreading crumbs across her quadrant of the table.

The homeroom-teacher chalked her name on the blackboard. “Alright,” she said, “I recognize some faces from my freshman art-class, but you’re new here, aren’t you? Yes, you,” she said, pointing at Jillian. “Introduce yourself.”

“Oh, sure.” Jillian cleared her throat. “I’m Jillian Diaz-Jackson. I just moved here from the East coast.” The short girl with white-blonde hair smiled and waved at her, then plucked more crumbs from her eraser.

“Ms. Jillian, tell us something about yourself,” said the teacher.

“Um… My dad travels for business, so he learns lots of languages,” said Jillian. “He paces the house chanting foreign phrases to memorize them. So I learn languages, too, but only words related to finance.”

“Ms. Jillian, how do you like LA?”

“It’s a little hot,” said Jillian, “and I don’t know anyone here.”

“Now you do.” The teacher pointed at the boy beside her. “What’s your name?”

“Dan Jones.” He pulled his gaze from the girl with the bible to shake Jillian’s hand.

“Danny-Boy Jones,” repeated the teacher. “Tell us about yourself.”

Dan thought. “I visited my father over the Summer. He was a professor of religious studies. I think religions are really interesting.” He peeked at the girl with the bible, but she buried herself in the book. “He showed me lots neat books.”

“Danny-Boy, what’s your favorite book he’s ever showed you?”

“Dante’s Inferno,” said Dan.

“Why?”

“Because,” said the short girl with the eraser, “his nickname is Dainty. It’s like he’s the star!”

“Is that so? What makes you Dainty, Danny-Boy?”

“He’s so cleanly. Watch!” She blew eraser-crumbs onto Dan’s side of the table. He cringed, brushed the crumbs into his hand, and tossed them in a trashcan. “See? He didn’t even brush ’em on the floor!”

“Give me your name and confess your motives for mutilating your poor eraser.”

“My name is Faith Featherway,” she said, “and I’m sculpting a fox! But it’s not coming out well. It looks more like a cloud, or a blob.”

The teacher smirked. “I remember you from my art-class. You never did stop with the foxes, did you?”

“They’re the best!” Faith penned a black nose on her eraser.

“Is it? You, last at the table. Which animal do you think is best?”

The girl with the maple-syrup hair put down her bible. “Birds, I suppose. They have wings like angels.”

“And what’s your name?”

“Beatrice,” said Beatrice. Dan smiled dumbly as she spoke, but she didn’t look at him. “Beatrice Baxter.”

“BeatBax,” said Faith. “It sounds much cooler.”

After the rest of class introduced themselves, the teacher took a stack of fliers from her desk. “The school wants us to educate our homeroom about bugs. Who here has heard of crickets?”

Jillian almost raised her hand, but decided against it and kept her hands on her desk. One boy in dark sunglasses raised his hand, and so did Faith, and most of the class followed suit. Finally Jillian raised her hand, joining everyone but Dan and Beatrice.

“That many? Really?” The teacher shook her head. “It was different when I was your age. You, with the sunglasses,” she said, having forgotten his name already, “what do you know about crickets?”

“Bug-sticks,” he corrected. “I know you can make bank selling ’em ’cause they get you totally bug-eyed.”

Some students chuckled. The teacher shushed them before she spoke. “They’re a dangerous hallucinogen. They come from a secluded island and they should’ve stayed there. Never smoke them. One puff is enough,” she quoted from the fliers she passed to each table, “to end up in the rough. So don’t touch the stuff!”

Jillian skimmed the flier. At the top was a photo of a raw cricket which still had its limbs, antennae, and stem. Below was a photo of a prepared specimen, plucked, dried, and wrapped in its own wings. Jillian had always found their ten black eyes somehow familiar.

Next Section
Commentary

When Dan woke in his bedroom, his limbs were frozen in fear. His eyes darted in the dark, finding faces surveilling from afar. His mouth was dry but he tried to swallow, tightening his throat. A scream died in his neck.

Eventually Dan managed to move his toes. He barely tensed them, so his blankets stayed flat. He knew monsters could sense movement and the subtlest disturbance in his blankets would alert them, so he lay struggling to control his body yet unwilling to make a motion which would get him gobbled.

A creature jumped into bed with him.

Dan tried to shout but only twitched with all his arms and legs. He breathlessly watched the creature slink up to him. It exhaled moistly on his neck and dug claws into his chest. Four fangs filled its face. “Oh,” said Dan, “hi Django.”

The cat kneaded the blankets and purred.

Now adjusted to the darkness, Dan saw the surveilling faces were toys on shelves and cabinets. They looked lifelike in the dark. “Django, help me,” said Dan. “I gotta go to my parents’ room, okay? Can you take me through the hall?”

Django the cat leaned on Dan and curled into a circle. It licked its fur and settled in to sleep.

“Okay.” Dan sat up on his own. He checked for monsters under his bed before setting his feet on the floor. He selected a stuffed animal—a purple Teddy Bear—and flipped his bedroom light-switch.

Django blinked in the light and swayed its orange, stripey tail. “Mrow.” It hopped to the floor and followed Dan to the door. “Mrow.”

“You wanna come?” Dan peered down the hallway. His Teddy Bear checked every corner for movement. “It’s not so far. We can make it.”

“Mrow.” Django slunk through Dan’s legs and sauntered to the kitchen. It turned to see if Dan was following. Its eyes gleamed green. “Mrow.”

“Oh,” said Dan. “You want food.”

Dan followed the cat to the kitchen. Django sat by an empty bowl beside a sealed container of kibble. “Mrow.”

Dan rest his Teddy on the tile floor and put both hands on the container’s lid. To remove the lid, Dan had to grunt and twist with his entire body. Django stood on its hind legs to stick its head in the container and smell the dry food. “Just a little, Django.” Dan scooped whole handfuls of kibble into the cat’s bowl. “Just a little.”

“Jillian?”

Dan spun to see a latina in a white bathrobe and a black man in boxers.

“Jillian, are you okay?” asked the man as he knelt to Dan. He had wire glasses and a close haircut. “It’s past midnight. Why are you out of bed?”

“Django was hungry,” answered Dan.

“Django’s fine, sweetie.” The woman lifted Dan in one arm and his Teddy in the other. “Your father will feed him when he leaves for his flight in a few hours. Right, Ethen?”

“Sure thing.” Ethen hoisted Django by the armpits and held the cat to Dan’s face. “Wanna say goodnight, Jillian?”

“Wait! I remember!” Dan kicked the air. “I woke up because I had a nightmare.”

“Oh, sweetie.” The woman brushed his hair back. “Let’s get you back to bed and you can tell me about it, or I can read you a story.”

“Thanks, Camilla.” Ethen ambled back to their bedroom. “Jillian, my plane takes off before you wake for breakfast, but I’ll call home tonight when I land at my layover. Okay?”

Dan said nothing as Camilla carried him to bed. She tucked him under the covers and set his Teddy Bear beside him. “I’m sorry you had a bad dream, Jillian. What happened?”

“I was in a desert with Faith,” said Dan, “and we went in a hole in the ground, and in the hole there was a monster with arms and legs. And it ate us!”

“Faith?” Camilla pulled the covers to Dan’s chin. “I don’t know Faith. Did you meet her in preschool?”

“Preschool?” Dan looked at his hands as if for the first time. “Mommy, how old am I?”

“You’re four years old, sweetie.” She felt Dan’s forehead for fever. “Why?”

Dan sat up. “What do you keep calling me?”

“Sweetie?”

“No, what’s my name?”

“Jillian,” said Camilla. “Your name is Jillian Diaz-Jackson.”

Jillian inspected her fingers like they’d changed. “Has it always been?”

“Of course it has.” Camilla felt her daughter’s forehead again. “Are you okay? You seem confused.”

“I don’t wanna go to bed.”

“Oh,” cooed her mother. “Poor thing. Did you know I had nightmares too, when I was young?”

“Really?”

“Yeah!” Camilla shook her head. “I had the same nightmare every night, so I learned to realize when I was asleep, and then the nightmare couldn’t hurt me. In fact, I could control my dreams, and fly, and have fun!” She scratched her daughter behind the ear. “So do you remember what that monster looked like?”

Jillian frowned and nodded.

“Then the next time you see it, you’ll know you’re dreaming,” said Camilla. “Then you can tell the monster, `you can’t hurt me! Make me a sundae!’ ”

“Yeah!” Now Jillian smiled. “Make me a sundae!”

“That’s right!” Camilla bumped her forehead against Jillian’s and they both laughed. “I’ll see you in the morning, sweetie. Tell me about your sundae on the drive to preschool, okay?”

Next Section
Commentary

Eggshell isolated it, an ivory wall. Egg-whites pulsed with its subtle heartbeat. The sunny yolk warmed its joints.

All of a sudden, it was gripped by desire for birth. It spread wings to breach its shell and release the egg-whites. It felt dirt in its claws. Behind, Anihilato snacked on eggshell and licked yolk from each fingertip. “Your challenge, Dan Jones.”

It was fist-sized with blue feather-fluff. Its beak bore a scythe’s curve, but its one eye held an innocent youth. Its left side was a mess of boils and teeth, with crowns and roots jutting at odd angles. “Is it a bird?” asked Dan.

“It’s a hobby,” said Anihilato. “My spawn are not long-lived, useful only for consumption.”

“And the teeth?”

“Virgil Blue must have taught you of the Teeth that Shriek,” said Anihilato, “if you did study with him, of course. Surely you know the danger of locking eyes with the afflicted?”

As the words left Anihilato’s lipless mouth, Dan found his gaze fixed on the bird’s beady black eye. His pupils tightened in concentration.

The two stared motionlessly.

Anihilato slithered to whisper in Dan’s ear: “I am invulnerable to the teeth. My spawn are not.” It put three hands on both Dan’s shoulders. “Blink, Jones, and you’ll succumb to the Teeth that Shriek. To end your unimaginable suffering, I will claim you. You’ll sit in an egg until your ego melts and then I’ll eat your soul.”

The bird turned so its eye faced him head-on, but thoughts of the teeth still tickled Dan’s brain. He imagined a molar embedded in his throat. He felt a canine burrowing behind his cheekbone.

“Peep,” said the bird. It looked down and pecked the dirt. Dan released the breath he’d held.

“Well done, Danny.” The King of Dust slapped his back. “Perhaps you really have met Virgil Blue once or twice.”

“Where’s Faith?” Dan crossed his legs and covered his eyes. “I won’t look until I hear her voice.”

“Oh, hush, Jones. I’ll return her soul, but her Eternity-Card remains in my box.” He chose Faith’s egg from the wall. “If she returns, I’ll not hesitate to reclaim her. At the end of time she’s mine.”

“Peep.”

Anihilato faced the bird and closed five eyes to match its gaze. “Begone!”

The bird blinked. Its flesh bubbled and darkened until it was a black centipede with wriggling orange legs. Anihilato slurped it down alive.

Satisfied, Anihilato gave Dan Faith’s egg. “Faith Featherway, you’ve been conjured from oblivion.”

The egg cracked. Faith gasped from the crack in a cloud of fog. “Holy shit!”

“Faith! Are you okay?” Dan hugged her, but she evaded his arms like steam. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t—”

“Let’s go!” She deposited into shambling snow. She made a crude leg and shook it at the exit. “Dainty, run!”

“Faith—” Dan hesitated to touch her. Instead he shook his head. “Leave without me. I’ll be up soon.”

“What?” Faith produced another snow-leg and hobbled away. “Don’t tell me you wanna stay down here!”

“I just bet my Eternity-Card for your soul.” Dan pointed at Anihilato’s box. “That means I’m not done. I can’t leave if Beatrice might be trapped here. Anihilato, let’s make another wager.”

“Are you kidding?” Faith’s eyeballs emerged from the snow to glare at Dan. She carved herself a sharp snout. “Dainty, I was just annihilated, and as far as I know, that’s not generally reversible. That’s all our luck used up already!” When Dan didn’t turn, she jumped and shouted. “You’re a Zephyr! You’re supposed to go to the Mountain!”

“The Mountain is in me.” Dan sat before Anihilato. “I’ll surface when I’ve salvaged Beatrice. And Jay. At least.”

“Dan! I miss them too, but there’s an order to things here!” She growled. “Did you spend seven years in a monastery just to gamble your soul for old pals?”

“No, but now that I know it’s an option, I can’t think of a better reason. I should have devoted my whole life to this.”

Faith tssk’d. “You’re a bad liar, Dainty. This was your plan all along. You’re right where you meant to be.” She turned tail to him. “I’m flying to the Mountain to tell the Zephyrs why I’m late.”

As she left, Anihilato squinted at Dan with three left eyes. “Why should I accept another wager, monk? The first time was a courtesy to Virgil Blue. I don’t have all eternity to waste gambling.”

“Then we’ll make it quick,” said Dan. “I wager my Eternity-Card against your entire box and every soul-receipt inside it.”

“If you dare to challenge me, cease speech and match my gaze!” Anihilato stormed up to Dan in a flurry of limbs. “Lock eyes with the Master of Nihilism and feel your consciousness shred!”

Dan was fixed on Anihilato’s six shining eyes. He couldn’t even breathe.

“I’ve got you now, monk.”

Dan closed his left eye. When his right eye burned, he opened his left eye and closed his right.

“Don’t waste my time, Jones.”

A tooth broke the skin on Dan’s neck. He shuddered as blood trickled down his chest.

Dan blinked.

Next Chapter
Commentary

Worms fled sand and sought moisture, eating deep into the dark. Larger worms left tunnels in their wakes. The largest worm carved caverns with twenty arms and twenty legs. When it exhaled, it filled its labyrinths with frost.

It cradled ten eggs, one in each pair of hands. Their yolks radiated warmth alien to the underground, like distant stars at night. The largest worm bent its head to the first egg and continued bending, coiling around the eggs three times. Then its ten pairs of legs gripped its body with its knees, holding the worm in a tight wheel. Secured like this, it slept.

It woke when it heard a voice. “Yo Dainty. Over here.”

It unwound to sight the intruders with all three pairs of eyes. A snow-white fox and a man in a grimy loincloth entered its lair. Dan counted the worm’s limbs as it uncurled. “Anihilato?”

It crawled to a dark corner of its cave and whispered gibberish as it stuck each egg in the wall.

“Anihilato, I’m Dan Jones. This is my friend Faith Featherway.”

The worm blinked its six eyes. “I am King of Dust.” Its face was cracked and dry. It had ten pelvises connected in series, Dan counted, and ten stacked human torsos. It was held upright with snake-like musculature.

The egg-holes leaked jelly.

“Anihilato, right?” Dan held out the cricket. “Do you have a lighter?”

Anihilato, King of Dust, Master of Nihilism, said nothing.

“I told you this was a waste of time,” said Faith. “C’mon, Dainty. Let’s scram.”

“I am King of Dust,” the worm repeated, “and this is my domain. Souls who wander here belong to me.” It illustrated this by eating worms off the ground. Its mouth had no lips.

“Cool it,” said Faith. “The Mountain sent me, and Dainty here is basically a Zephyr.”

“Irrelevant,” said the King of Dust, “and the monk is no Zephyr. He has man-smell. I own his soul now.” The worm retreated to the darkness and returned with a wooden box. “Your souls are in my box. I have your Eternity-Cards.”

While Anihilato searched the box, Dan bobbed the cricket. “If you help light it, you can help smoke it.”

“Dan Jones.” Anihilato pulled a paper from the box and read it with three eyes while the other three squinted at Dan. “Make no claims to Zephyrhood while I hold your Eternity-Card.”

“Uh, this guy was sent by Virgil Blue,” said Faith. “Are you gonna tussle with Virgil Blue?”

“Faith, it’s fine.” Dan tucked the cricket behind his ear. “Can I have that paperwork? I want to read it.”

Anihilato hesitated with Dan’s Eternity-Card in three pairs of hands. With a sigh, it passed the paper to the monk. “It’s shameful a teacher so great has students so foolish. If you were to be a Zephyr, you would have gone to the Mountain. Instead, you have fallen to my domain.”

“This is my soul alright.” Dan held the paper. “Thanks for taking care of it.”

“Eternity-Cards are my deed to creation.” Anihilato smiled. Its teeth had no gums. “The Mountain made you from dust. I’m the Master of Nihilism, King of Dust. I own you. I have the right to obliterate you at my whim.”

“You sure would.” Dan folded the paper. “If you had my Eternity-Card.”

Anihilato’s jaw hung open. “…I do.”

“Then what am I holding?”

The King of Dust shook its head. “You saw me take that from my box moments ago.”

“I sure did.”

“So your soul belongs to me.”

“I don’t follow. You don’t have my Eternity-Card.”

Anihilato reared. Its flared limbs made a manta’s mantle. “Mortal, for the honor of Virgil Blue, I humor you momentarily. I am the sole owner and consumer of all creation. You,” it continued, jabbing a finger at Dan, “glimpsed enlightenment and believe you deserve immortality as a facet of the creator of all things. Unfortunately, you approached me before unifying with the Mountain. I, therefore, claim you.”

Faith whispered over her shoulder. “Let’s get outta here, Dainty. This guy gives me the creeps.”

Dan smiled. “Maybe the Mountain claimed my Eternity-Card and you just forgot.”

Frustration bent Anihilato’s limbs. Froth bubbled between its teeth. “I gave you the card a mere minute ago!”

“Now you remember.” Dan tucked the paper into his loincloth. “Like you said, I’m a mortal who glimpsed enlightenment. I saw I’m one with the Mountain. I asked for my Eternity-Card and the Mountain asked for my Eternity-Card. You gave it to me and you gave it to the Mountain. Everything’s in order.”

Anihilato stomped so hard the floor shook and made Faith jump. “You cannot avoid obliteration by feigning knowledge of matters you cannot comprehend! Such awful students make the best eggs, Dan Jones! You escape on technicality today, but I will wait until the end of the eternities and I will make you a delicious egg!”

“Pleasure doing business, Anihilato.”

“You Zephyrs are crazy.” Faith forced a worried smile with her vulpine muzzle. “I found this guy naked in a furnace, Anihilato. He’s the real deal. I promise.” She leapt and floated on cave-moisture. “Can’t you see its dangerous here, Dainty? Let me take you to the Mountain.”

“Don’t speak like you’re leaving, wisp,” said Anihilato. “Your soul still belongs to me.” The worm’s next breath sucked wind from every corner of the endless caverns.

Faith yelped as her airy tail drifted towards the King of Dust. “Help! Dainty! What’s it doing?” She tried to run but slipped backward each step.

Dan grabbed the fox in both hands. Snow flew through his fingers. “Anihilato, stop! Now!”

Faith fought the wind that ripped her snowflakes away. “Help, help!”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t—” Dan watched her body vanish until finally her terrified eyes flew into Anihilato’s lipless mouth. “She’s my friend. Let her go.”

“Your friend is mine.” Its line of legs rolled an object along the dirt. Its bottom arms passed the object to its top arms which held the object to its face. “She’s an awful egg. Pale color. Too transparent.”

“Hatch her. Please.” Dan knelt and pressed his nose in the dirt. “She met Virgil Blue. Twice. They traded gifts. He would be devastated to know.”

“Not worth hatching.” Anihilato slithered to the egg-wall. “Begone, Dan Jones. You waste my time.”

“I’ll bet you mine for hers.”

Mid-turn, Anihilato looked back at the monk. Dan unfolded his Eternity-Card and rest it reverently before the worm. “…I will allow this,” said Anihilato, “for Virgil Blue. Only your master’s reputation preserves you.” The King of Dust swapped Faith’s egg for another from the wall. It carried the new egg to Dan. “For Virgil Blue I will allow this unwashed, nude, and prostrate fool to wager his soul for the sake of a tiny spirit who did not even make a nice egg.”

It set the new egg before him.

“But your challenge will prove fatal if you lied. Only a true disciple of Virgil Blue could hope to survive.”

The egg cracked.

“Your challenge, Dan Jones.”

Next Section
Commentary

The desert sand was baked rust-colored. Mile-high dunes crawled over infinite plains. The mustard sky veiled a red mountain on a natural stone step so massive its hazy features extended into space.

A lone, cottony cloud zipped across the sky. It surveyed the desert, spilling vapor in its wake. It hovered over a particular valley between two dunes, apparently satisfied.

The cloud fell six feet left and six feet right, beginning a corkscrew descent. With each downward loop, it thickened and cooled. Soon the cloud was cold fog approaching the desert at incredible velocity.

On impact it popped like a bubble. Forty pounds of snow hit hot sand, jumping and steaming and clumping together.

“Oh! Ow, ow, ow!” The snow balanced like an egg to elevate its bulk above the sand. “Damn.” She shook legs from her snow nubs. With slender forelimbs, she brushed ice from her eyes. She sharpened claws in the sand and used them to sculpt her snout. Her crystal whiskers quivered in the dry air. She kicked frost from her hind feet, leaving a fluttery, airy tail behind her, and tiptoed to the shadow of a dune, where the sand was cooler.

After catching her breath, she dug at the dune, pausing only to eat the earthworms she uncovered. She finally excavated a cobblestone wall with a hinged panel. She sat before it, straightening her tail and biting sand from her fur.

Some time later, the hinged panel clicked. A sand-curtain fell to reveal the wall was part of a stone box.

“It’s about time.” She strutted to the box. “Come out already!”

The man in the box pushed the panel open. He sat crossed-legged in a cramped compartment, nude. He had short brown hair. Soot smeared his pale skin.

“I gotta fly you to the Mountain.” She put her front paws on the lip of the compartment to inspect him. She gagged. “Get a loincloth. It’s too early in the morning to look at monk junk.”

He leaned over her. “You’re a fox.”

“And you’re a hobo,” said the snow-white fox. “If you think you’re attaining Zephyrhood naked and sooty, you got another think coming.”

“Something’s wrong,” said the monk. “I thought I’d wake on the Mountain greeted by the Zephyrs themselves.”

“Well, the Zephyrs sent me. Who sent you?”

“Virgil Blue.”

The fox’s tail fell behind her. She returned to all fours and stared demurely at the sand. “You’re one of Virgil Blue’s?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” She sat on her haunches. “We’ll go when you’re ready.”

The monk nodded. He pulled himself from the stone box, pouring soot on the sand. “Hot today, huh?”

The fox nodded.

The monk brushed ash from his belly. He held a folded washcloth. “If we’re not on the Mountain, where are we?”

“The Deserts of Anihilato,” said the fox, poised rigidly, “where lost souls fall into Nihilism’s grasp. We should leave before it finds us.”

“I’m not worried about Anihilato.” He pulled the washcloth around his waist and tied it into a loincloth. “Is this better?”

“Sorry for my disrespect, sir,” said the fox. “I usually reign in regular-old lost souls, like earthworms and stuff. The Mountain greets guests like you themselves.”

“To be honest, I’m relieved,” he said. “I’ve lived in a monastery for seven years. I’ve had enough of Zephyrs and Virgils. What’s your name?”

“Faith,” she said. “I’m a Will-o-Wisp.”

“Faith? Faith Featherway?”

The fox looked up. “Do I know you?”

He pat his chest. “It’s me! Dan Jones! I haven’t seen you in years!”

“Dainty! No wonder the Mountain sent me!” Faith the fox leapt and hovered on water-vapor. “Gosh, I didn’t recognize you covered in soot. Dainty Jones… Let’s talk on our way to the Mountain.”

Dan looked to the red mountain sitting on a plateau like a throne. His eyes traced the impossible heights. “Is Beatrice there?”

Faith sighed. “If she is, I haven’t seen her.” She dropped from the air to stand at Dan’s feet. “You’re filthy, Dainty. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Dan swallowed and stared at the yellow sky. His hands twitched. “If Beatrice isn’t in the Mountain, maybe she was claimed by the King of Dust.”

“I hope not. Anihilato’s such an ass.”

“Let’s ask. We’re in its desert, aren’t we?”

Faith shook. “The last time I met Anihilato, it tried to grab me.”

“Then I definitely want to meet. It lives underground, right?”

“You can go alone,” she said. “I don’t wanna see that thing again.”

“I’ll protect you, I promise,” said Dan. “I just want to make sure Beatrice is alright. I’ve even brought Anihilato an offering.” Dan reached into the furnace for the cricket. It was a tan smokestack with ten black eyes around its head. “A cricket from Virgil Blue. You can help us smoke it.”

“Well… okay. But only because there’s nothing but cockroaches over here. I can’t stand it!” Faith led Dan over a dune. “Light it up! We’ll get bug-eyed on the way.”

“I didn’t bring a lighter. Let’s bum one from the King of Dust.”

Next Section
Commentary

Outside his mountain monastery, beside a stone statue of a bird shielding a man with its wings, Virgil Blue leaned on his cane and surveyed the coastline far below. Two distant islands glittered in the morning sunlight, but their paltry size did not impress him. His own island stood on the sea floor and thrust a mountainous peak into the clouds, and even this, he thought, was unsatisfactory. The Mountain whose peak breached Heaven waited in the next eternity.

Virgil Blue heard whirring from the sky. A helicopter-drone settled beside him, dropped off a package, and flew away. Virgil Blue removed his silver mask to inspect the sender’s Kansas City address. Under the mask, this Virgil revealed he was not Nemo. His skin was yellow and leathery with age, and one iris was black but the other held a cataract like the moon. Inside the package was a collection of books and a note which read ‘the end is here.’

The old monk wandered like mist into his monastery halls. Bright tapestries dripped dew down alabaster walls. He stepped around puddles to save his slippers and stopped beside a paper door leaking tendrils of incense. “Oran dora, Danny. Are you ready for the end?”

Behind the paper door, a younger monk exhaled. “I think I am, Virgil Blue.” He slid the door open from inside. “What do you think?”

“We’ll forgo breakfast. This morning you dine in the next eternity.”

“Thank you for your guidance, Virgil Blue.” Dan looked thirty, maybe thirty-five years old, and had short brown hair. His skin was pale from years of study on the mountainous island. His robes were spotless orange.

Virgil Blue closed the paper door behind them with his cane, a curious object smooth along the shaft but with ten black spots encircling a gnarled top. The cane was taller than the old monk to compensate for a limp in his left hip on cold mornings like this. “This way, Dan. You should embark before the other students awaken.”

Dan brushed wrinkles from his orange robes. “I still have concerns, Virgil Blue. Can we talk?”

“Of course, of course.” The Virgil pointed his cane down a hallway and led Dan from the monks’ quarters. “When you meet the Mountain, you’ll have no room in your heart for doubt. Whisper so the slumbering can sleep.”

Their whispers echoed in a library of musty books. “I’m worried for my friends, like Faith, and Jay, and Beatrice.”

“I’m sure Faith and Jay can handle themselves.” Virgil Blue sorted his new package of books onto a library shelf. “As for Beatrice, I’ve never met her.”

“She’s dead.”

“Then there’s no sense worrying. Beatrice is surely with the Mountain.” He led Dan onward.

“What if she was claimed by Anihilato, Master of Nihilism? I couldn’t accept salvation without her.”

“Anihilato? The King of Dust is powerless before you. I’ve seen the Mountain in you, Dan.”

“You know I’ve had moments of weakness.”

Virgil Blue gestured his bald head. “If Anihilato concerns you, you need a washcloth.”

“A washcloth?”

“I hold absolute confidence a washcloth will show your path.” Beyond a meager dining-hall where cushions flanked squat tables, they entered the kitchen. Virgil Blue swept a washcloth from a counter-top into Dan’s hands. “Keep it until its purpose is clear.”

Dan folded the washcloth as they walked. “Did you read many books when you lived in America, Virgil Blue?”

“I did, but that was ages ago. Why do you ask?”

“This is just like The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.”

“Take wisdom where you find it, Dan. There are no coincidences. You read those books on the path to the next eternity, where you’ll be one of the Mountain’s highest servants—a Zephyr.” At the heart of the monastery, Virgil Blue rapped the wall with his cane. The cobblestones cradled a hinged panel smeared with ash and grime. “Would you open the furnace? I’m not so limber in the winter.”

“Should I remove my robes to keep them clean?”

“First clean the furnace. Then remove your robes. Such paltry items have no use in the next eternity.”

Dan swallowed. “Yes, Virgil Blue.” He pried the panel ajar. The furnace vomited black ash over his orange robes. He pulled soot from the furnace with his bare hands.

“I’ll return. I have a parting gift for you, Dan.”

“Virgil Blue?” The teacher met his student eye-to-eye. Dan’s smile faltered and he looked away. “I’m also worried about…” He pat his blackened hands on his robes. “The Teeth that Shriek.”

The Virgil froze. He opened his mouth as if to speak but produced no words. Pity bent his wrinkled brow. “Do not concern yourself with the Teeth that Shriek.” Dan nodded. “I have a parting gift for you.”

The young monk scraped ash from the furnace until he was caked in soot. He brought ten logs of fresh firewood, just enough to warm the monastery. After loading the furnace, he removed his robes. He was nude underneath, with a hungry build.

“This is for you, Dan.” Virgil Blue hobbled to the young monk with an outstretched hand. “I planted this cricket myself. I dried it, cured it, plucked it, and wrapped its wings.”

Dan held the insect to his nose. It was three inches long, tan in color, and had ten black eyes encircling its head. “You flatter me, Virgil Blue.” Dan climbed into the furnace, cracking kindling underfoot. “May I have the incense?”

“Of course, Dan.” Virgil Blue guarded the smoldering end of an incense stick while Dan settled cross-legged atop the logs. Virgil Blue stood the incense in the tinder.

Dan watched embers light the kindling. “I’ll put in a good word for you, sir.”

“I’ve never been good at saying goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Virgil Blue.”

“Goodbye, Danny. Greet Beatrice for me.” Virgil Blue shut the furnace with his shoulder.

The room grew warm.

Virgil Blue thawed his hands.

Then he walked away, never to return.

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