By C. A. Broadribb

Three good whiffs of Tiffini and I split up, my different spirits running in parallel through a snowy forest. Large, transparent flowers flow around and gently cling to branches with their pincers. Pincers? Why would flowers have pincers? Where are we, anyway? There are pine trees everywhere, and more are growing all the time. We reassemble into one body, I grab an axe and swing at the nearest trunk. I miss, and almost hit Cameron.

“What are you doing?” he says.

“Investigating,” I say. 

I wonder why he’s wearing riding clothes even though there is nothing to ride. However, something else — or rather, someone else — has just caught my attention.

“I know that kid,” I say.

Cameron spins around and through the flakes in the air sees my acquaintance from a previous journey. The son of a young man whose grave was drowned by the sound of acid rain. A dark, fallen child. Erick.

“You’re ruining everything!” Erick says accusingly. 

“I’m not,” I say. “This is my new forest.” 

“You’re ruining everything,” he says. “I’m recording it.”

He extends his arm, and opens the folded skin to reveal a storage card. 

“Maybe. But…” I can’t seem to find my voice. 

“This is not a forest. It is a house,” Cameron says, jumping on the carpets and rugs. 

He’s right. We’re in a luxurious mansion that has paintings of large, transparent flowers on the walls. A workbench by the side of the room holds a variety of tools and partially made clocks. I’m making my own unique timepieces, and instead of cuckoos, they are full of chicks and surprises. They only show lost time: the moments we ignore or lose track of; the flies that we leave in the blink of an eye. The last one sold immediately. However, when I pick up another to complete it, it explodes in my fingers and the pieces scatter on the floor. I am shocked. Cameron calms me down.

“You’re ruining everything!” Erick says accusingly. 

Now the rugs are crawling on the floor of their own volition, piling up and assembling themselves into a high mound. Kingah appears, sitting on top, wearing his beautiful crown, confident of his powers. He has been away for a long time, but has returned to us all. He offers to show me a special collection of opal scents.

“They have a sad history,” he says.

A blue-eyed squirrel hands him a stunning bottle. It looks like it came from a museum.

“I am waiting for the moment to be stolen,” Cameron whispers.

“You’re ruining everything,” Erick says.

I notice something amazing. The king is hiding three masks behind his battle-hardened arms; one for each head. Owl masks. During all this time he must have been hiding amongst us, masquerading as someone else.

“You’re a traitor!” I cry. “You betrayed the kingdom.”

“You missed me so much,” he counters.

The room has silently filled with people: all members of his court. Once again when I see myself as part of his kingdom I think that he should become a better ruler, more courageous but also more kindly. Instead, we have become part of his will. He believes that bottles encrypted with opal are codes for a better life. 

“I warned you,” Cameron says, and for some reason he no longer wears riding clothes. He’s in animal skins, like a caveman. 

The people around us talk amongst themselves, but their voices are weak. They are fading away, becoming translucent. Green trees are once more sprouting up all around us.

“They’re magical,” I say, watching the ghosts flow through the trees. 

“You’re ruining everything,” Erick says. “Finish it, finish it, oppose it.”

“Does that not mean that he has to look and feel and think?” Cameron says.

 “That means weakness,” I say.

Now I'm heavy and tired. Everything changes smoothly. The ghosts disappear. Trees turn into control panels. Kingah on his hill becomes the possessive face of a maintenance robot on a roving trolley. Cameron is an automatic cleaner. Erick is a beeping navigation computer. I’m alone again on this long journey, this endless journey, through the stars. 

Three good whiffs of Tiffini and I'm ready for another experience…

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