Chapter 109

One by One

Thrush

The smell of oiled skin. Tanned hide. Rough-sharpened steel. The scent of bandits.

No wonder this road is deserted. But I’m tired of eating humans.

I’d snacked on dreambons for another day as I traveled. I purred to heal my sunburnt skin. My human composition was down to 74%; my dreambon composition up to 16%. I felt better and better after each juicy, crunchy, toe-curling dreambon.

The stuff of my ancestors colored the sponge of my eyes, filled my body with origin. It was euphoric to become myself again. I couldn’t help from chuckling with my widening mouth as the smell of bandits drew closer.

When I came upon them through an even narrower part of the path, they ambushed me.

First with the drop of a net.

Screams of battle filled the air.

I pulled the net apart with ease and stepped through it as though it were made of the seeds of dandelions.

I strode forward.

Arrows drove through my ribs, a thigh, a cheek, and into my shoulder. One by one, I pulled them off and tossed them aside. They were mere thorns to me. Ornamental piercings.

I strode forward.

Then came the bandits themselves. They came at me with crude spears, greased skin, food-stained beards, and eyes drawn wide enough to see beyond the sclera. 6 of them at once. My body received each spear tip. Half of them shafted straight through me. One through an organ.

My eyes throbbed. Pulsed out of sync. I purred. Healed. Snapped the spear shafts in half and pulled them out of my body. I tossed those aside like the arrows. A bandit held onto one of those spears with all his might, twisting and shaking the weapon. I smacked him away like he was but a fly.

I strode forward, pulling the last spear from my belly and simply dropping it.

Bandits crossed my path with more spears. I shredded them to pieces and strode through the carnage.

That was when their attitude changed. Their screams fell to shouting commands to each other. An occasional beast of a man rushed me, but I pulled him apart where the spine met the hip.

Others brandished their weapons at me but I ignored them and strode on.

A woman leapt upon my back and drove daggers into my neck. I threw her off and strode forward. As the puncture wounds healed, the daggers were pushed from my body. Clattered to the ground behind me.

The bandits were relentless. Numerous. The more I shoved them aside and kept moving, the faster they attacked.

“Excuse me,” I growled. “I’m just passing through.”

With a gentle tap, I knocked the lower jaw straight off the skull of a bandit. Blood fell in a wide chute from the death blow.

I must have been dealt 3 dozen more wounds before making it through the ambush. A bandit turned corpse dragged alongside me with each step I took, having been pinned to me by an arrow on accident.

I emerged from the ambush drenched in my own blood, resembling a porcupine wearing buried spears and arrows instead of quills. Again but thorns to me that I picked off as I continued my stride.

A few followed me—young ones—but their bravery was for show. They froze when I smiled at them. They went pale on eye contact and hesitated. I left the last of them behind.

By sunset, I reached the bridge that Wex Hill mentioned. It was indeed a small bridge. Beneath it ran a steady stream. I followed that stream for another day.

The bank of the creek was rocky. Annoying to traverse. So I put myself in the water and force-waded my way along, crushing rocks beneath me with the insane amount of weight my inventory held.

The humidity brought out the mosquitos but they didn’t bother me. They avoided me. Everything was afraid of me. The ticks too. Frogs cleared the stream ahead of me. Snakes slithered in the distance. I heard them. Heard everything. Even the slight ringing of a bell.

That’s when I stopped.

Could it be? Already? Have I come upon the cowbell plant?

The stream rushed around me quietly, as though it too cowered in my radius. And when it passed me by, it quickened again, babbling ahead over sunken stones and woodland debris. I chased that stream for the rest of the day, until the sound of the cowbell leaves drew me out of the widening creek and up a slope.

I stomped over ferns and fruit bearing brambles. The clanging of rusted metals became louder until I came upon one plant. One single cowbell plant. When I ate a leaf, my composition confirmed the species. Its essence suffused my body and mind. I felt the colors of rust and dark green bleed into my eyes.

The plant came out of the ground with ease, clanging violently as I shook the dirt from the roots. Then—Gone! Right into my inventory.

I sat for a snack of dreambons to celebrate. Swarms of gnats hovered near me, but never approached. I filled my belly with dreambon after dreambon, slowly returning to my shape of origin. The Thrush that I had been for all these many years. The percentage of human I’d become was going to take a few days of many meals to overcome.

I’ve got all the time in the world.

I licked my lips, content to see my satiation reach 80%.

When I listened for more cowbell plants, I heard none and returned to follow the stream.

Night passed as I stomped my way down stream. The next day arrived with gold rays that combed through the woods. Though my ears had begun to rise to the top of my head, grow fur, and round out, I still heard nothing but rushing water and the way of nature.

Until a strong breeze whistled by and the familiar clang of cowbell leaves rang like shy chimes. Familiar with their scent, I tracked them down, smashing through fallen trees that I didn’t want to leap over. Then I smelled water. A lake.

By midday, I came to a crescent shaped lake. Diving flycatchers shrieked when I came out of the woods. They panicked and flew off. My gaze followed the outline of the lake. All along the perimeter were cowbell plants. Hundreds of them that had driven the trees back over the years.

One by one, I ripped them from the ground and shook the dirt from their roots. The constant clanging was a cacophony of dry, rusted bells.

There was dirt under my fingernails. Dirt in my mouth. Dirt on my human clothes. Root after root went into my inventory. By nightfall, I’d foraged for nearly a third of the cowbells.

I know what Hawkin would say, I mused.

I considered the hundreds of remaining cowbells. Gave them a good long look.

That’s enough. A good place to stop. Let them grow once more for a few more years. That’s what he would say, and that’s fine by me, my friend. I hope this will be enough to fix our goblin and orc situation.

I washed myself in the lake and grappled fish with my human-esque hands. I made fire. Smoked the fish as best as I could with logs I pulled apart with the tips of my fingers. I dined under the stars of the sky and the stars that bounced on the ebbing lake.

Tomorrow is a new day. That’s the plan. I’ll return to the main road so that I can run into people that might help me deliver these roots to Hawkin. And I’ll pass through those bandits again. Just for fun.

My dark laughter echoed across the lake.