The Sour Flower Gang—A Name That Sticks
“My arm is tingling,” said Ash, and the other four children instinctively glanced at the dark-skinned girl. More specifically, they looked just beyond the stump that ended the girl’s left arm, slightly above where her elbow should have been. They all knew that it didn’t make sense, that a phantom limb shouldn’t be able to detect the proximity of a Moonflower. They knew this. And yet, they also knew not to question this strange phenomenon, especially when it had proven accurate time and time again.
“Then let’s keep pushing,” offered Fincher.
Ditto looked around nervously. Despite his massive size for a twelve-year-old, the boy remained the group’s most cautious member. But one would be gravelly mistaken to confuse Ditto’s prudence for cowardice. Many a bully had found that out the hard way.
“We’re already deep into the Timbers.”
“You want to go back empty-handed again, Ditto?” challenged Fincher.
“You know I don’t. But the shadows are getting thicker. And where there are dark shadows there are Ghost Pumas.”
“Group vote?” asked Fincher, his smirk revealing that he already knew the final tally.
Ditto sighed heavily. “Fine.”
Fincher’s smirk widened into the genuine smile that was usually found on the eleven-year-old’s handsome, pale face. “Ash?”
“Let’s push on. Sorry, Ditto.”
“Sammi?”
The thin girl pushed her round glasses higher up onto her nose. “I’m with my sister.” Despite being the second-youngest of the crew, Sammi was by far the most intelligent. Only her devotion to her older, more reckless sister could cloud her judgement.
Fincher quietly clapped his hands together. “That’s all we need.”
Ditto shook his head. “Everyone’s opinion should be heard, even if the vote is decided.”
Fincher rolled his eyes, hazel within the yellow sclera that marked all in the Stenches. “Always a stickler for the rules, Ditto. Hana?”
The almond-eyed girl, both the group’s youngest and smallest, jumped at her name. Her black-on-yellow eyes scanned the colorless landscape of the Tainted Timbers, dark wood surrounded by endless greyness, as if storm clouds of soot had released themselves upon the world.
“I’m scared.”
“You’re always scared, Hana,” said Ash gently.
“I know. So, it won’t hurt to keep going.”
“Ditto?”
“You win, Fincher. But can we at least try to keep it down?”
“I can. But you’re the farking oaf who plows through the forest like Old Man Toots after a handle of rotgut.”
The other three children laughed, and even Ditto had to chuckled at the image of the Stenches’ most amusing drunkard. “I’ll do my best. Lead the way, Ash.”
Ash took the lead as the group moved deep into the Tainted Timbers. Fincher lost track of the number of Reaper Vines they passed, that most toxic of plants that poisoned the air and gave the Tainted Timbers their infamous name. Despite making jokes, the quintet did grow more quiet as they continued to penetrate the dismal woods.
Finally, Ash held up her right hand and the group pulled in tight. “It’s throbbing. We’re close,” she whispered. “Everyone look around.”
The children fanned out, and it wasn’t long before a whistle cut through the relative quiet. They hurried over to the source.
Sammi pushed her glasses up once more and pointed near the base of a smoke pine. There, rooted against the colorless tree, as they always did, was a Moonflower. The round blossom swirled with hues of blue, lavender, and indigo, a beacon of color against a drab backdrop.
The group drew closer to the Moonflower.
“It’s grown high,” remarked Sammi as she studied the glowing flower. “This one will probably be gone within a few more phases of Ommori Prime.”
“Then let’s get all we can from her,” said Ash, looking toward Hana.
“I’ll do my best,” stated the seven-year-old.
Fincher searched all around the Moonflower. “Does anyone see it?”
“I don’t. But it’s gotta be in that hollow just above the flower,” replied Ash.
Fincher took in several deep breaths.
“What are you so nervous about?” asked Ash. “Ditto has the hard part.”
“Yeah, but it’s my farking face on the line.”
“Some scars could be an improvement,” teased Sammi.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Let’s just get this over with. Ditto, you in position?”
Ditto had moved to the side of the smoke pine. He stared intently into the blackness of the hollow. “I’m ready.”
Fincher looked to his large friend, eyes pleading. “Don’t miss. Please don’t farking miss.”
Ditto refused to take his green-on-yellow eyes from the hollow. “I won’t.”
Fincher let out several more breaths for good measure as the others slowly backed away. “Alright. I’m going in.” Ash removed a knife from her waistband and held it at the ready.
Fincher inched up to the Moonflower, his feet shuffling across the forest floor. The blossom pulsed before him, hurting his eyes with its brightness. He stepped closer and held his breath. Closer. Closer.
A blur leapt from the smoke pine’s hollow, moving straight for Fincher’s vulnerable face. His hazel eyes slammed shut, and he prepared for a bite that would take half his face with it. Luckily, no strike landed, and only the thud of meat on meat could be heard.
Fincher slowly opened his eyes and was greeted by the slit-like pupils, giant maw, and dripping fangs of a Moon Adder, the white snakes that acted as necessary guardians for the Moonflowers.
While the other four children let out a collective sigh of relief, Ditto’s muscles remained tensed as he held the serpent in the air, having intercepted the creature mid-strike. Ditto kept one hand around the Moon Adder’s throat while he grasped its thick body with his other hand and slowly removed it from the hollow.
“I’ve got her. Isn’t she a beauty?”
While Fincher couldn’t deny the elegance of the snake’s glimmering white scales, he wasn’t ready to throw his attacker a compliment. “Yeah, a real stunner. Maybe bring her with us and you can take her to the Sisters under Paragon Dance?”
“Can’t be worse than that horse-face you took last year,” quipped Ash, and the other three filled the air with laughter.
Fincher held up his hands defensively. “Reba Bugg is a wonderful girl with unfortunate teeth, I’ll have you know.”
“Didn’t she try to bite you when you got caught eyeballing Stella Bugg?” asked Sammi between laughs.
“Sounds like she and this Moon Adder have more in common than you’d like to admit,” joked Ditto, and the group exploded.
Fincher surrendered. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, chuckleheads. But we’ll see who ends up dancing with Stella Bugg.”
Ash wiped tears from her eyes with the back of her lone hand and spoke through labored breaths. “Hana has a better shot of getting with Stella than you, Fincher.”
“Well, good for her,” shot back Fincher. He turned to Hana. “Aren’t you the popular one, Miss Hana. Care to show us how you got so popular? You’re up.”
Hana nodded and stepped toward the Moonflower. The Moon Adder writhed in Ditto’s hands, but the large boy held tight. Hana caressed the blossom with a thin, alabaster finger. Despite the group’s tendency toward raucous laughter, all four fell quiet when Hana was about to sing.
Fincher’s breath caught when the first gentle notes escaped the young girl’s lips, as it always did. Her voice, although soft, carried throughout the Tainted Timbers, as if the forest thirsted for something beautiful, something the opposite of grey.
Sammi wiped a tear as the song came out in a language that none of them understood. Hana’s ancestors came from high in the Spired Curtains, just north of Shadowset, and although songs had been passed down, the meanings of words were lost to time and sorrow.
Even the Moon Adder ceased its thrashing, caught up in the enchantment that was Hana Bugg’s voice. The Moonflower, too, was not immune to her musical charms. Its pulsing quickened, and the blossom began to swell. As it did, Sammi retrieved a glass vial from her pouch and held it just beneath the flower. Moments later, the Moonflower started to contract, releasing a syrupy white substance from its stomata. The Moon Tears ran down the face of the Moonflower, collected at the bottommost point, and began to drip into the waiting vial. The drip became a small stream, and the first container was quickly filled. Sammi deftly switched out vials, handing the full one to Fincher, who topped it with a cork stopper.
“Wow, this one is gonna be filled, too,” whispered Sammi under Hana’s song. “You got another one, Fincher? Hurry.”
Fincher scrambled in his bag but offered only a shrug. Ash moved in quickly, pushing the boy aside and presenting her sister with a third vial. The third vial’s contents climbed halfway up the glass before the stream became a drip once more. A few beats later, it became obvious that no more was to come.
Seeing that the Moonflower had finished its “crying,” Ash put her hand against Hana’s small back, letting the girl know that she could stop. Hana, who always sang with her eyes closed, let the final note drift out before looking at her handiwork.
Muffled applause broke out from the group.
“Great work, Hana,” said Fincher, giving the sensitive girl an appreciative shoulder squeeze.
“Almost three full vials,” remarked Sammi, corking and placing them all into a specially padded area of her pouch. “That’s a new record.”
“Everyone’s gonna be delighted with you, Hana.”
Hana looked down at her tiny feet. “Thanks, Ash. Thanks, everyone.”
“Uhh, if you all don’t mind,” cut in Ditto, the Moon Adder once again aggressive in his hands, “can I toss this thing aside now?”
“Yeah, but send it far enough away that it won’t double back on you,” answered Ash. “And be gentle with it!”
“So, sending it against the nearest ash oak is out of the question?”
Ash shot Ditto with a serious look. “You know it is, Ditto. This Adder might find and protect the next Moonflower that we harvest. Otherwise, it will be devoured by the critters before we ever have the chance.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s just that y’all aren’t the ones that have to catch the stupid things. One wrong move, and I’m a goner.”
“No,” corrected Fincher. “One wrong move and I’m a goner. It’s my farking face that the thing goes after.”
“Well, nobody faults it for that,” joked Ash, and the five all shared in a quick laugh. “Ditto, gentle please.”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Ditto, already stepping carefully farther into the Timbers. “Your wish is my command.” He returned a minute later. “All done. I dropped it on a nice, soft bed of sponge moss. Bugger still snapped at me.”
“So, we’re good?” asked Fincher, and the group all nodded in assent. “Then, there goes another successful mission of the Sour Flower Gang! The absolute best harvester team in Crimmish!”
Most chuckled, but Ash rolled her brown-on-yellow eyes. “Sour Flower Gang? Fincher, you know I hate that stupid name.”
Fincher flashed a wide smile, delighted that his selected handle annoyed the oldest of the group. “It’s a good name and you farking know it. It’s got meaning, rhyme, and is syllabically correct.”
Sammi’s pushed up her glasses. “Syllabically, correct?”
Fincher held up fingers as he spoke. “Sow-wer flow-wer gang. See! It all fits.”
“It’s also stupid,” argued Ash. “Sour because everyone thinks we stink? Because of our stupid eyes and the stupid smells the stupid Reaper Vines put out? I don’t like people saying we stink. And I don’t like to be reminded that they think that way.”
Fincher held up his hands in surrender but pressed on. “I get it, Ash. I really do. But we all know it’s unfair. And mean. And, yes, stupid. So let’s farking own it and take away the only joke they have. If we’re able to call ourselves sour, what could they possibly say to hurt us?”
“Lots of things.”
“Maybe if they had farking brains. You’re giving them too much credit.”
“Well, I still think the name sucks!”
Fincher and Ash stared at each other for a moment. And while there was a challenge there, no animosity could be felt.
“Group vote?”
“Fine.”
Fincher’s mischievous grin returned. “Ditto?”
Ditto gave one of his patented shrugs. “Fine with me. As good as any other dumb name. Honestly, I still don’t know why harvester crews even need—”
“That’s one for me,” declared Fincher. “Hana?”
“Whatever you all want,” she said shyly.
“You gotta vote, Hana. Or else this group vote thing doesn’t work.”
“Okay, Fincher. I like sour things. To me, it’s one of the best tastes around. Reminds me of my mother’s cooking. She loves to use tart ice berries in our food.”
Ash tried to be gentle with the group’s Moon Voice. “Sour tastes are quite different from sour smells, Hana.”
“Semantics! Semantics,” cried Fincher. “Another vote for me. Sammi, care to bring us home?”
Sammi giggled under her older sister’s threatening stare. “Sorry, Ash, I think it’s kinda funny. And I like the way it sounds. And he’s right about the syllable thing.” She pushed her glasses up once more. “As intellectuals, we care about these things.”
Ash’s face twisted from the playful betrayal. “Oh, you’re an intellectual now? Well, riddle me this, little sis, how are you gonna remain an intellectual when I—”
“It’s near unanimous,” declared Fincher. “We are the Sour Flower Gang, and we have once again conquered the Tainted Timbers and brought home the bacon. Let us return and collect our kudos! And, for me alone, perhaps a soft kiss from one Stella Bugg. Let’s ride!”
Fincher, Hana, and Sammi took off back through the forest, cutting a straight line for Crimmish. After they had gone a few dozen feet, Ash moved to follow but was stopped by a strong hand on her stump. Ditto leaned into her, and her heart jumped more than she wanted to admit.
“Keep an eye out,” whispered Ditto, looking around the shadowy forest canopy. “Fincher’s celebrating, but we’re not home yet.”
* * *
Fincher led the way, growing loud as the children drew closer to Crimmish.
“Sour Flower Gang don’t give a what! Coming back with Moon Tears to kick the Bloat’s butt!”
“Shh,” admonished Sammi. “Ditto said we need to stay quiet.”
“He did say that, my dear intellectual. But that was back there, and we are up here. We’re near home now; nothing to worry about, my bespectacled friend.”
Sammi pushed up her glasses and looked around as she walked. Hana remained close to her side and Ash trailed some distance away. Ditto wasn’t to be found. Sammi called out to her sister.
“Shanti! Where’s Ditto?”
“I told you,” Ash answered angrily, “it’s Ash now, not Shanti! And I don’t know where Ditto is. He probably had to go pee. Which I’m going to have to do if we don’t hurry it up. In fact—"
Ash’s words were cut short as something passed over the group in the forest canopy. The four children spun as one, just in time to witness a dark mass fall from the smoke pines and land heavily twenty feet behind the lagging Ash.
The Ghost Puma, two-hundred pounds of rippling muscle under a thick, black coat, did not growl as it began to slowly stalk forward. Instead, it simply opened its mouth, revealing razor-sharp teeth as its jade eyes became brighter with excitement.
“Fark, fark, fark,” cursed Fincher as he moved into action. “Hana, Sammi, get behind me. Ash, can you start walking backwards to me? Ash? Ash!”
Unfortunately, the normally unflappable girl was frozen with fear as the Ghost Puma stepped forward on padded, clawed paws. Ash trembled and tears ran down her dark cheeks as her phantom limb began to throb, the horrible memory of her last Ghost Puma encounter two years ago flooding to the surface.
Fincher recognized his friend’s terror. “Okay, Ash, stay there. I’m coming to you.” Fincher removed a long hunter’s knife from his belt as he slowly made his way back, careful not to startle the approaching cat. “Okay, Ash, I’m almost there. I’ll need you to—”
The Ghost Puma sprung forward with impossible speed, creating an obsidian blur in the grey air. Ash cried out and closed her eyes as the flying beast torpedoed ahead, fangs and claws leading the way.
Just as the Ghost Puma was about to reach Ash, another form sprang from the undergrowth and slammed into the lunging cat, driving the beast to the side to collide hard against the thick trunk of a smoke pine.
Ditto thrust his knee forward as hard as he could as he landed atop the devilish feline, forcing a strange sound from the monster as several of its ribs shattered.
The Ghost Puma continued to wail as it thrashed about beneath Ditto, its snapping jaws narrowly missing the boy’s exposed arms. Its claws, however, did not miss, and the right front claw ripped down the top of Ditto’s forearm. The large boy screamed and gave way, allowing the Ghost Puma to right itself and go on the attack.
The massive cat pushed off the smoke pine, driving Ditto to the ground. Ditto, however, a veteran of dozens of brawls despite his young age, used the momentum against the hunter, pressing his feet against the Ghost Puma’s chest and leg-pressing it up and over as he fell to his back.
The Ghost Puma flipped through the air but unsurprisingly landed softly on its paws. It spun back immediately to face Ditto, its jade eyes flaring with bloodlust, and moved to strike once more.
Again, the Ghost Puma was thwarted as another pale blur rammed into it. This time it was Fincher, his knife leading the way, driving the blade deep into the thick side of the onyx killer. The Ghost Puma roared and tossed Fincher aside, sending the boy flying into the nearest thicket. The Puma coughed up a wad of blood, shook its black head, and started to follow the boy into the bushes. The delay was all that Ditto needed as he dove back into action, landing hard on the Puma’s back.
Ditto’s arms wrapped around the feline’s thick neck and the boy’s impressive strength, aided greatly by gravity, pulled the Ghost Puma to the ground. The breath was driven from Ditto’s lungs as the Puma’s back rolled onto the boy. Ditto held on for dear life beneath the jade-eyed demon as it clawed the air and twisted. Soon, it would complete its turn and have Ditto pinned to the ground, its jaws wrapped around the boy’s throat.
But the Sour Flower Gang had other plans.
Before the Ghost Puma could complete its spin, Sammi darted forward and stabbed down three times, sending her small dagger into the beast’s chest before back-pedaling away. The Puma turned its head to face this new threat and was rewarded with more wounds as tiny Hana came in from the other side and slid her own blade between the creature’s ribs one, two, three, four times.
Ditto, feeling the Ghost Puma begin to fade, used what little energy he had remaining to tighten his grip, locking the cat in place. With a great and unsurprising shout, Fincher escaped the thicket and leapt into the air. He dropped from the sky like an arrow, coming down on the Ghost Puma’s chest and thrusting his hunter’s knife through the heart of the forest’s apex predator.
Fincher hugged the Puma’s chest closely for several seconds, sandwiching it between himself and poor Ditto until the cat’s too-sharp claws stopped raking the air.
When he was sure the Puma was dead, Fincher slid off, pushed the carcass off Ditto, and helped his friend to his feet.
“And that is how you kill a farking Ghost Puma,” exclaimed Fincher, his hazel eyes wild with excitement.
Ditto shook his head and carefully fingered the deep cuts on his arm. “No, that is why you don’t go traipsing through the Tainted Timbers like a traveling troubadour troupe.”
Fincher waved him away. “Ahh, that farking thing would have been clocking us no matter, even if we were as silent as honey wheat mice. That’s not the takeaway here.”
Sammi came over with strips of cloth and started bandaging Ditto’s wounds. “And what is the takeaway, Fincher?”
Fincher’s grin widened. “Isn’t it obvious? The takeaway is that you don’t mess with the Sour Flower Gang!” The boy raised his head to the shadowed canopy. “Do you hear me, you rotten forest,” he called out. “You mess with the Sour Flower Gang, you get farking got!”
“Shut up, Fincher,” said Ditto between grimaces as Sammi continued to dress his cuts. “We’re lucky it was an adolescent. A full-grown cat would have ripped us to shreds.”
“No way! Tell me any other crew who could have done what we just did? None of them! We’re the best. We all played our part and were farking awesome. I wouldn’t put it past us to—”
“Fincher.” Hana’s soft voice brought the boisterous boy up short. “Look.”
Fincher followed Hana’s eyes and found that Ash had remained frozen throughout the whole ordeal. The girl continued to tremble, her eyes locked forward to where the Ghost Puma once stood.
“Fark!” Fincher ran over and threw his arms around Ash, pulling her in tight. “It’s okay, Ash. It’s all over now. We won. It can’t hurt you now.” She continued to shake against his body.
“Move!” Ditto’s words were not a request as the large boy took Fincher’s place. As soon as he was in place, Ash melted into his arms, tears pouring forth in massive heaves.
“What am I, chopped bog rat meat?” asked Fincher.
“Shut up, Fincher,” snapped Sammi as she joined them.
After several minutes, Ash finally began to settle. She separated from Ditto and offered a heartfelt nod. “Sorry. Sorry, everyone.”
“Nonsense,” offered Fincher, “you were integral to the kill.”
Ash laughed and wiped away the last of her tears. “As what? Bait?”
“That’s right! Impossible to catch a farking Ghost Puma without bait. It’s just too bad your arm doesn’t detect Pumas the way it does Moonflowers.”
“Shut up, Fincher,” cried Sammi, Ditto, and even Hana in unison.
“Just an observation,” said Fincher defensively. “Now, if everyone’s done being downcast, can we please get a move on. I’m returning to Crimmish with a dead Ghost Puma and three vials of Moon Tears. I expect a champion’s return and many rewards, including a farking kiss from one Stella Bugg.”
“Your reward sounds like her nightmare,” shot Ditto, but Fincher simply waved him away.
“Women are attracted to wealth and power. And I happen to be bringing representations of each. Now, again, let’s get moving.”
“I can’t,” Ash said from the side, her body angled away from the others.
“Well, of course you can. You just have to—”
“I said I can’t, Fincher!”
“Why not?”
Ash reluctantly turned back, revealing a giant wet spot covering the crotch and legs of her pants. Tears began to well up once more. “I told you I had to go. And when I saw that, that, thing… I don’t know, I guess…”
“It’s okay. It’s okay,” comforted Ditto. “Likely no one will even be able to tell.”
“The heck they won’t, Ditto! Most of them already hate me. I can’t stand to show my face like this.”
Fincher stepped forward and untied the rope holding up his pants. They dropped to the ground, showing off ragged underpants beneath. He collected the trousers and handed them to Ash.
“Here, put these on. I’m the only one close to your size. We throw yours in my pack and wash them later.”
Ash wiped the lone tear that fell. “But what will you wear?”
Fincher’s wide smile returned. “Me? I’m wearing the greatest outfit of all—the mantle of Ghost Puma slayer!”
“I think Ditto did most of the heavy lifting,” said Sammi, holding back laughter.
“Semantics! Semantics!”
“I’m not sure you know what that means,” stated the group’s intellectual through giggles.
“It means, my four-eyed friend, that all eyes will be on yours truly when we make our triumphant return, which is exactly how I like it! Now, in addition to a Ghost Puma and Moon Tears, I will be offering a third gift.” Fincher shook his hips for emphasis and the other four children collapsed in laughter.
“I don’t think that’s much of a gift, Fincher,” said Hana, shocking the others with a rare jibe.
Fincher glared at Hana but was secretly proud of the young girl’s insult. “We’ll let Stella Bugg be the judge of that.”
* * *
The Sour Flower Gang finally cleared the Tainted Timbers. Fincher, Ditto, and Ash groaned as they pulled the dead Ghost Puma along on a sled that Sammi had hastily crafted with rope, Reaper Vines, and branches using her uncanny knotting and building abilities.
As they cleared the final smoke pines, Fincher looked to the South, as he always did, to view Mount Ghaal, the dead volcano that soared into the sky and hung heavy over Crimmish like an angry, watchful god. It was Mount Ghaal’s eruption that had poisoned the soil of the forest below, making conditions such that only grim flora like smoke pines and worse, Reaper Vines, could thrive. Ironically, the noxious vapors that Reaper Vines released created the perfect, and only, environment in which Moonflowers could grow.
Sometimes, in his darker moments, Fincher wished that Mount Ghaal would erupt again, ending the cycle of poverty and madness that defined Crimmish. But the usually optimistic boy always shook these thoughts loose, reminding himself that the work they did was important—no, vital—to countless lives across Quaan.
Without the children of Crimmish, there would be no harvesting of Moon Tears. Without Moon Tears, there would be no creation of Salvation, the only compound known to cure the Bloat, that most evil of plagues that oozed forth from the Black Bog over a hundred years ago.
Fincher locked onto this fact, bathed in it when he began to feel that his home was more Stenches than Crimmish. It made him feel proud. And Fincher liked to feel proud.
“How much farther?” asked Ash, her head down with effort.
“Almost there; just a bit farther,” answered Ditto, who barely looked to have broken a sweat although his wounds had bled through his dressing.
“I’ll run ahead and get some others to help,” said Sammi before dashing off.
“Some intellectual,” complained her sister Ash. “We could have used that idea a thousand paces ago.”
“Ignore the pain,” offered Fincher as the trio continued to pull. “Think of Stella Bugg waiting for us at the end of our journey. Perhaps she’ll throw on a special dress for me.”
“That doesn’t help us one bit,” shot back Ash.
“Oh yeah? Ditto?”
“Sorry, Fincher. Not my type.”
Ash’s heart jumped again. She blamed it on the exertion of the pull.
A short time later, as the group approached the edge of town, Sammi returned with a group of adults. Among them were Crimmish mayor Dann Bugg, the parents of Sammi, Ash, and Hana, and Fincher’s father.
“Ho there! You five never cease to surprise,” shouted Fincher’s father Gill as the group neared, and the trio dropped their ropes.
Fincher’s usual wide grin made an appearance. “You know that the Sour Flower Gang never returns empty-handed!”
“Who?” asked Mayor Bugg.
“I told you that stupid name wouldn’t stick,” whispered Ash to Fincher.
“Give it time. It’s a good name,” he answered back quietly before yelling to the incoming group of adults. “Us! The Sour Flower Gang! Crimmish’s best harvester crew. You’d do well to remember our name, Mayor, especially given the treats that we’ve brought.”
Fincher’s dad laughed aloud as the parents of Sammi, Ash, and Hana ran forward to bury their daughters in deep hugs. Gill Bugg gave his son Fincher a paternal slap on the shoulder.
“Wait till you see what we have, Da,” said Fincher.
“Doesn’t matter, son,” replied Gill. “We’re just glad that you are all back. You can’t imagine the fear that we endure when you lot head off into those cursed woods. But you will.”
“Oh, but look at what they have brought back, Gill,” exclaimed a wide-eyed Mayor Bugg. “I haven’t seen a Ghost Puma bagged since I was a child. Back then, the group that brought it back returned three less than they started with.”
“Ditto did the heavy work,” stated Sammi, much to the chagrin of Fincher. “Although we all did our part,” she added when she noticed her friend’s disappointment at his lack of credit. Ash turned away at her sister’s words.
Ditto shrugged in embarrassment. “It’s just a juvenile.”
“Nonsense,” insisted Dann Bugg. “This is a real cause for celebration. This cat will provide some much-needed meat, especially with how lean it’s been recently. And that coat will make a nice blanket for some lucky family.”
“It should go to Ditto and his dad,” said Ash. “Look at his arm.”
“Thanks, but it’s nothing,” replied Ditto, hiding the red-stained bandages of his arm. “It should go to the Widow Till. She lost her husband and both children in the fire. She has nothing. She could use something good in her life.”
Although Fincher, like everyone, wanted the Ghost Puma pelt, no one could argue with Ditto’s logic and heart. Till Bugg had lost everything when some kids from Salvation Outpost had started a fire on her porch as a callous prank that quickly spiraled out of control.
Mayor Bugg nodded his agreement. “A good call, Ditto. You’d make a fine mayor.”
“That’s not all we have,” said Fincher, looking to wrench a little attention back. “Three full vials of Moon Tears. Show him, Hana.”
The small girl dug through her pouch and carefully removed the three glass containers of Moon Tears. She handed them gently to the mayor, who looked upon them as if he held wine diamonds from the base of Galanis Dawn.
“How remarkable. I’ve never seen so much from one harvest.”
“That’s Hana’s doing,” said Ash, and Fincher once again looked stricken.
“Hey! It was my face that was offered up as a sacrifice to the Moon Adder,” he protested.
“Then we’re lucky it took the bait. Stella Bugg never would have,” joked Gill Bugg, and everyone roared in laughter.
“Da! You’re supposed to be on my side!”
“Sorry, son. You left yourself open to that one.”
Fincher relented and joined in the fun. “Yes, I guess I did. Well played.”
Mayor Bugg was still staring into the glittering white substance of the Moon Tears. “It’s a shame that prices have plummeted as of late. Otherwise, this could have really given us some breathing room.”
A silence fell over the group. The children looked to each other but kept their questions to themselves.
Ash and Sammi’s father Taff finally broke the spell. “Well, these children look like they could use a hot bath, a warm meal, and some rest. Let’s get them home.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” stammered Mayor Bugg. “Where are my manners? You children head back to your homes with your parents. The rest of us will take this Ghost Puma to Carver Rett. We’ll divvy up the meat, giving your families the usual founder’s cut, and make sure that Widow Till gets the fur. Hopefully, it will help shield her against cold memories.”
The children, along with their parents, began to walk back toward Crimmish. Fincher looked back at the Ghost Puma, desperate for one last look at his crew’s great triumph. Mayor Bugg noticed and called out to the boy.
“And don’t worry, Fincher. I’ll make sure everyone knows that these wonderful gifts were supplied by the, uhh… Sour Flower Gang!”
Fincher’s smile exploded on his face. He leaned into Ash as he marched forward. “See! I told you it would stick!”
Ash simply rolled her brown-on-yellow eyes and hugged her ma closer.
Ditto, bringing up the rear, gently tugged on Sammi’s arm, pulling her away from her parents. Hana, wedged between her parents, secretively eavesdropped.
“Sammi, my da didn’t want to come?”
Sammi’s eyes grew wet behind her thick glass lenses. “I’m sorry, Ditto. My da said that he’s been sequestered back at the house. For his own protection. And others.”
“Already?”
Sammi couldn’t find the words, so simply nodded. “You want me to tell the others?”
Ditto put on a brave face. “No, please don’t. This should be a happy moment. We don’t have enough of those.”
“You sure? We can help, Ditto.”
Ditto softly pushed his small friend back into the waiting arms of her ma, Jazz Bugg. “Not this time, Sammi. Not this time.”
* * *
Fincher and Gill Bugg hiked through the wet clay of Crimmish toward their house. With Crimmish’s location at the base of the Spired Curtains, any precipitation brought incessant flooding, leaving the town a constant muddy mess. When they reached home, a modest, single-room dwelling, similar to most in the town, made from scrap planks and dried clay that filled in wide gaps in the exterior, Fincher sighed as he always did. Given that smoke pine was near impossible to cut, the residents of Crimmish had to make do with what could be traded for, found, or recycled.
Although he was thankful for what he had, Fincher couldn’t help but believe that he deserved better. His da deserved better. And his beloved ma Gwynn Bugg certainly deserved better. The fact that he was unable to give her more before she succumbed to the Maddening relentlessly tore at Fincher’s heart.
Fincher entered the sparsely furnished house, hung his pouch on a nail by the door, leaned his hunter’s knife against the wall, and collapsed into his little bed that sat beneath the building’s lone window.
Gill smiled, delighted to have his son home, and moved to the back, where he collected wood from against the back wall and began to place it within the stone-lined fireplace.
“Relax, son. I’ll get a fire going and start a soup. I gathered some Sweet Tooth Truffles while you were gone and even managed to trade for some spire elk meat.”
Fincher sat up. “Spire elk! Jeez, Da, what did that cost you?”
Gill waved his son away. “Don’t you worry about it. Nothing’s too good for a son of mine, especially one that heads up the infamous Sour Flower Gang.”
Fincher sat up even higher, his grin threatening to cleave his small face in half. “You really like the name?”
“Of course. It’s got rhyme and really sticks.”
“I farking knew it,” Fincher said under his breath as he fell back into his hay-covered bed. A few moments passed. “Da?”
“Yes, son,” said Gill as he worked to light the fireplace.
“What was that about the price of Moon Tears falling?”
Gill Bugg hesitated for a second before returning to his work. In short order, a small fire was growing within the stone hearth. “Don’t worry too much about it, Fincher. It’s just that Salvation has proven to work almost too well. The Bloat is pretty much under control, although a few cases continue to bubble up from the Honey Rice Flats. With reduced demand comes reduced prices. Simple economics, really.”
“But Moon Tears are how we survive, Da. Without Quaan needing Salvation, what can we trade with? What can we possibly offer the outside world?”
Gill placed a pot full of water over the fire. “You kids don’t need to concern yourselves with that kind of stuff. You let us adults worry about such things.”
“I just don’t want things to be the way I heard they used to be,” said Fincher, his voice growing weaker. “We have so little, as is. Not that I’m complaining.”
Gill threw some meat that he had already prepared into the heating water with a splash. “We’re survivors, son. Crimmish was founded before the Bloat, before Moonflowers, and, despite having nothing to offer, our people still endured. We were given a death sentence but defied everyone—especially those rotten Crimms—by living on. The Bloat and the subsequent Moonflowers gave us an opportunity to improve our positions. Even if Moon Tears become worthless, which I highly doubt, we’ll find another way to make it. It’s just what our people do.” Gill added the Sweet Tooth Truffles to the pot. “Now tell me, leader of the Sour Flower Gang, would you like me to add some ice berries to the stew? Hana’s father gave me some, although I have no idea how he got them.” Gill Bugg finally turned back to his son. “You know, he may have…”
Gill stopped short, noticing Fincher was fast asleep on his bed, the boy’s shallow snores highlighting how exhausted he truly was. Gill walked over to his son, removed the boy’s tattered boots, and threw a blanket over his small form. He kissed Fincher on the head and wiped a tear that had found purchase in the corner of his eye.
“Never mind, my son. You sleep and dream. Dream of beautiful girls that put Stella Bugg to shame. And of magnificent worlds far removed from this horror that is the Stenches. Because I fear that I will never be able to show them to you.”
Gill Bugg returned to his stew. “I’m going to add the ice berries,” he said to himself. “We have to relish what little we are given, even when it’s sour.”
* * *
Hana’s parents, Kenn and Joon Bugg, put away the girl’s travel kit and helped her change into more comfortable clothes. Although this was a joyous occasion, they couldn’t help but notice that a sadness had fallen over their young daughter.
Joon pulled Hana’s straight, black hair into a neat bun before spinning the girl around to face her.
“What’s troubling you, my darling? You’re home, you’re safe, and you’ve made the entire town extremely proud with your success. This should be a time for smiles.”
Hana looked down and studied the stained blanket that covered her pine needle bed before looking up with shrink-wrapped almond eyes. “I heard Sammi tell Ditto that his da was sequestered.”
Joon’s face then fell, just like her daughter’s. Kenn had to pause his chopping of vegetables in the corner to wipe a tear that had splashed onto the makeshift table. He resumed. “Durn mud onions always get me.”
“Ma, how much longer does he have?”
Joon stroked her daughter’s cheek. “I’m sorry, my love. He doesn’t have long at all now. Link Bugg is deep into the Maddening. If someone doesn’t do something soon, Link will do it to himself. Or someone else.”
Kenn wiped away another droplet. “Link Bugg was a great man. The best man I ever knew. We should all aim to be more like him.”
“You talk about him as if he’s already gone,” shot Hana.
Kenn’s chopping increased in speed. He didn’t look up from his onions. “You’re right, sweetie. It’s just…”
Joon saved her husband. “Hana, we all know that this is the way things go in Crimmish. Some are luckier than others, get more time to cherish their families. More time to say goodbye.”
Hana finally broke down. She spoke through massive sobs. “I hate the Maddening. I hate this place.”
Joon and Kenn shared a look before mother spoke to daughter. “Hey, hey, don’t say that. Hate the Maddening, but don’t hate this place. This is our home. Your home. And we don’t have much, but we have each other. Nowhere else in Quaan would offer you the relationships that you have here. Nowhere else would you have friends like Fincher and Sammi and Ash. Friends like Ditto. In Crimmish, we treasure things that really matter. And it’s not fancy homes and shiny bracelets.”
Hana nodded. “Poor Ditto. What can I do to help him?”
Joon smiled at her daughter’s kind heart. “The most impactful gifts are simple things. Free things. Give Ditto friendship, understanding, and support. And, most of all, love. You all know how to do that for each other already.” Joon wiped the last of Hana’s tears and a few of her own. She straightened the girl’s pajamas. “Now, Da’s preparing a real feast. You must be famished. Would you like to sing a song while we wait?”
Hana finally smiled. “Sing with me?”
“Of course, my love.”
Hana and Joon began to sing, and the melody floated around the room like medicinal vapors. Kenn wiped a final splash. And his chopping once again slowed.
* * *
Ditto’s stomach cramped as he turned the corner, and his small home came into view. Not only had a board been hammered across the door, but Zedd Bugg sat guard outside. Zedd offered a sympathetic nod to Ditto as the boy approached.
“Is it bad?” asked Ditto, skipping the usual pleasantries.
“It’s not good, lad.”
“Can I see him?”
“Of course. I’ll remove the board.” Zedd turned and pried the scrap lumber away from the front door. Obstacle removed, he waved Ditto forward. Ditto’s hand paused for a moment on the handle. “Ditto.” The boy and Zedd’s met eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Ditto pushed in and closed the door behind him. The inside was dim as the home’s only window had also been partially boarded up. Ditto left his belongings near the door and stared toward the back of his small house.
A large shadow stood facing the rear wall. Ditto stepped closer and saw that Link Bugg was shaking, his forehead pressed against the rough wood.
“Da? Da, it’s me. I’m home. Our harvest was a big success. Not only did we get Moon Tears, but I was able to bag a Ghost Puma. It was an adolescent, but still… I think you’d be proud.”
Link spoke through clenched teeth. “Always p… p.. proud of you… son.”
Ditto felt tears begin to form but forced them back. “Da, what can I do?” He moved forward and placed his hand against Link’s broad back.
“M… m… my brain. It… it… it itches. C… can you… can you scratch it?”
The dam broke and tears flowed from Ditto’s soft green eyes. “I’m sorry, Da. I can’t.”
“Oh. That’s okay, s… son. I… can… do it.”
Without warning, Link slammed his head against the wall, leaving a crimson stain on the planking. Ditto jumped back in surprise, and Link banged his head again before the boy could react, leaving even more blood on the wall and painting the man’s face red. Ditto leapt upon his father, wrapping his arms around the giant man in an attempt to pull him away from the back wall.
Unfortunately, Link Bugg, Crimmish’s largest resident, proved too strong and easily tossed his son to the floor as he continued to bash his skull against the hard wood.
“Da! Please stop! Da,” cried Ditto from the floor as Link continued to headbutt, spraying blood across the wall. “Da!”
“Itchy! So… itchy,” Link could be heard saying between impacts.
“Da!” Ditto scrambled to his feet, but before he could reach his father, one last crack echoed through the home and Link stumbled backward. He stood there for a moment, and a dumb grin could be seen through the mask of blood.
“That’s better,” said Link Bugg, before collapsing into a pile on the ground.
Ditto dropped alongside his unconscious father and held him tight, deep sobs shaking both large boy and giant man.
“I’m sorry, Da. I’m so sorry,” Ditto kept repeating as he rocked them both back and forth on the grit-covered floor.
Ditto cried for his father. But he also cried for himself. For he knew that the worst was yet to come.
* * *
“Shanti, you’ve barely touched your food,” observed Taff Bugg. “I thought mountain hare was your favorite. Your ma went out of her way to get it for you.”
“Ash.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ve told you a million times, Da. My name’s Ash now, not Shanti.”
Taff looked to his wife Jazz for support. She didn’t disappoint. “We know, sweetie, it’s just that you’ll have your whole life to be called Ash. Can’t we enjoy Shanti while you’re still young?”
Ash pushed her food around without eating it. She spoke without looking up. “We use our one-syllable names when we’re no longer kids. I haven’t felt like a kid since my arm got taken. It just makes sense.”
Taff and Jazz exchanged concerned looks. Sammi helped them out through bites of stew.
“She’s upset about Ditto’s da. We all are.”
Ash shot her younger sister with a look of anger. “Well, it hasn’t seemed to affect your appetite!”
Sammi slammed down her spoon. “That’s not fair! And fark you! All our hearts hurt for Ditto!”
“Girls! Enough! And Sammi! Such language?!”
“Sorry, Da,” exclaimed Sammi. “But just because she doesn’t eat means she cares more? Fark that!”
“Language,” screamed Jazz Bugg.
“Sorry, Ma.”
Taff Bugg took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “It’s okay. Everyone, it’s okay.” He patted his wife’s hands. “This is certainly unfortunate timing. And your ma and me are very sorry about your friend Ditto. Link Bugg has helped us through some tough times. He’s helped everyone in Crimmish, truth be told. But we all have our time, and our families and friends must meet it with courage and empathy. And action, most of all. Ditto knows what needs to be done. He’s the spitting image of his old man.”
Ash pushed more food around. “May I be excused?”
Taff started to say more, but Jazz’s dark hand on his arm held him back.
“Of course, sweetie. Get some rest. You’ve earned it. You all have.”
Ash stood up. “Oh, I’ll get some sleep. But poor Ditto won’t!” With that, Ash slammed her fork down on her plate, ran to her bed, and buried herself in blankets. Crying could be heard beneath the layers of wool.
Jazz watched the heaving pile of covers for a moment before turning her attention to the younger of her two daughters. “How are you doing, kiddo?”
Sammi shrugged as she shoveled rabbit into her mouth. She spoke around bites of meat and potato. “My heart hurts for Ditto, Ma. But unlike Shanti, my heart’s not connected to my stomach.”
“It’s Ash,” came an angry, muffled voice from the nearest bed.
“Well, that’s good,” said Taff, pushing Ash’s plate towards Sammi. “Here, have Shanti’s portion. Let’s not let it go to waste.”
Sammi pushed her own empty plate aside and began to dig into Ash’s leftovers. “Plus, I’m not the one who’s in love with him.”
Taff’s face twisted in confusion. “What was that?”
Sammi shrugged. “Nothing.” She took Ash’s plate in her hands. “I’m gonna finish this outside. There’s a new colony of syrup ants next to the porch and I want to watch them.”
As Sammi exited, Taff turned to Jazz and whispered, “What did she say? What about Shanti loving Ditto? She means platonically, right?”
“I don’t know, Taff.”
“As friends, right?”
“Leave it alone, husband.”
“Right?”
* * *
Ditto sat with Link Bugg all night, ignoring the man’s shouts of brain itch and grimacing every time his massive father’s thrashing threatened to rip the ropes that held him tight in a reinforced chair. Luckily, Ditto was able to complete the ties before his father gained consciousness. They certainly weren’t as pretty as Sammi’s knots, but they held.
Ditto spoke to his father well into the night, sharing his deepest thoughts and desires while telling Link how much he meant to him. Every now and then, the violent head movements would cease, eyes would clear, and Link Bugg would manage to say something unrelated to itches and scratches and brains. It was always the same.
“I love you, son.”
As Paragon began to rise over the horizon, Link finally succumbed to exhaustion, and his damaged head fell into his chest. Ditto rose from his chair, kissed the top of his da’s head, and exited the house.
As his eyes adjusted to the morning light, Ditto saw that he wasn’t alone. Fincher, Ash, Sammi, and even Hana were waiting outside, all sitting cross-legged on the dirt. They rose upon seeing their friend.
“How long have you all been here?” asked Ditto, the tears in his eyes in stark contrast to the appreciative smile on his face.
“Not sure. A couple hours maybe,” answered Fincher. “How are you holding up, Ditto?”
Ditto walked to his friends. “Ahh, you know. It is what it is. Part of life in the Stenches, isn’t it?”
No one responded, but all nodded solemnly.
Sammi put her hand on her big friend’s big shoulder. “Is there anything we can do, Ditto? My da said he can help if you can’t go through with it. Said he owed Link Bugg a lot.”
“My da said the same thing,” offered Fincher.
“Mine, too,” added Hana.
Ditto wiped some wetness from his face. “Thanks, you all. Truly. But I need to do this. We’ve said our goodbyes. There’s nothing left to do now.” Ditto drew circles in the dirt with his boot. “Well, just one more thing, I suppose.”
Fincher stepped forward, stood on his tiptoes, and pressed his forehead against Ditto’s. “Want me to come in with you? I will.”
Ditto slapped his smaller friend’s shoulders. “And take all the credit? No way.” The friends all shared in a somber laugh. “Okay, then. Be back in a minute.”
Ditto turned to leave but was stopped by Ash’s lone hand on his bicep. She pulled him in and kissed him on the cheek. “We’ll be out here waiting.”
“Thank you, Ash.”
The group watched as Ditto returned to his house. On his way in, he collected the large dagger that leaned against the building and closed the door behind him.
Several minutes passed. And then several more.
Eventually, the door sprung open, and Ditto stepped out. Despite his size, the boy looked deflated, as if he had left a big chunk of himself back in the home. While Ditto’s dagger dripped with blood, his face looked devoid of it, replaced by a pale veil of sadness. He tossed the blade aside and stumbled to his friends, who rushed forward and buried him in a massive hug.
And there the Sour Flower Gang remained for dozens of minutes, dispersing Ditto’s grief while sharing their collective strength. They rubbed backs, squeezed hands, and wiped tears, only separating when every eye was dry, and the color had returned to Ditto’s face.
Finally, Ditto nodded to each of his friends in turn and they began to walk arm-in-arm to Mayor Bugg’s, who would arrange to have Link’s body collected and prepared.
Ditto looked to his left and his right as he walked, and although he was experiencing anguish beyond words, he was not hopeless. A small smile formed as he marched forward with his Sour Flower Gang.
Ditto Bugg was parentless. But he was far from alone.
