Negative Film

by Leonard Petracci

  “What’re you thinking about?” she asked, pressing her shoulder against mine with a yawn, staring with me into nothingness.

  “Not too sure,” I answered, unmoving. “No, that’s not right. I don’t know, I’m wondering if maybe we’re a bit over our heads. Or if we’re chasing after something that might not even exist — is there a point of stopping Lacit if he would have failed anyways? What exactly are we stopping him from?”

  “Well, he’s on Siri’s side, right?” she asked, looking up at me. “That alone should be enough for you, shouldn’t it? And if you stop him from nothing, then we still win in the end, because he still loses.”

  “Yeah, it should,” I answered after a moment’s pause. “I just wonder if maybe we would be better off somewhere else. Maybe there’s someone worse out there than Lacit. I told you he wanted me to join him, right? What if he isn’t the bad guy here?”

  “SC.” She sighed, exasperated, and turned my head with her palm. “I don’t know how you can say that after seeing the village. I don’t care who started it— those people didn’t have a chance, and Lacit knew that. What do you think a person like that would do with more power? Our home would become just another village, with the people he didn’t like wiped out.”

  She put her hands on my hips, her eyebrows scrunched together, and continued.

  “We’re doing the best we can here with what we know. From that knowledge, we’re in the right. The police aren’t going to lock him up, SC— he is the police. And unless they have no other option, they’re too cowardly anyways. So it’s up to us, okay?”

  “Okay,” I said, my heart starting to rise in my chest. “We’ll just keep moving against him. It’s all we can do.”

  “Good,” she said, then leaned in, her lips brushing quickly against mine in a jolt that woke me more than her coffee. “Now you go see what that lunatic Zeke has planned with no sleep before he gets us killed, all right?”

  “Deal,” I whispered, my heart thumping as she backtracked into the cabin, my fingertips trailing hers until they broke over the door frame. Then I sighed, turning away from the water, and left to find Zeke at the wheel. He stared at the same position I had been in the mist, his hands absentmindedly guiding the boat, and long bags claiming the area under his eyes.

  “What’s the plan?” I asked as the dock behind us was claimed by the mist. At his feet was the basket from the night before, and the corner of a piece of fabric peeked out of it, streaked with gray along its edge.

  “We need to travel far inland,” he said, dragging his gaze away to look at me, his eyes bloodshot, his foot knocking the fabric back into the basket and the lid on top of it. “Which means we need transportation. With more time, it would be good for you to learn to do this on your own.”

  “To what, walk the jungle?”

  “Yes,” he answered, and waited. “Though it would be slow.”

  “If you’re asking if we should learn that now, that’s a firm no,” I answered. “Our priority is to outpace Lacit. You did say you could help us get to the destination first, correct?”

  “Yes, I did,” he said, and a muscle in his right arm twitched. “And I will. There is another option, but not as safe as the first.”

  “Not as safe as taking ATVs at breakneck speed through the jungle, you mean? I think we’ll survive.”

  “Nowhere near as safe. But much quicker. More effective. And before we begin, I need your word— that you accept the danger. It looms heavier than before.”

  “What exactly are we talking about here?”

  Zeke started to speak, then paused, his lips pursed, before continuing.

  “It is unconventional. When you see it, you decide, but I have warned you of the risk. Now steer— it’s time I slept. Wake me in four hours and be ready to depart. We will need to move quickly, for if this plan fails, I have no other.”

  With that, he departed and left me alone with the mist.

  ***

  “Zeke, there’s no trail— there’s not even a gap to walk. How do you expect us to get through that?” Arial asked, doubt thick in her voice after we disembarked.

  We had pulled the boat into an overhang of vines, Zeke lashing it to a massive tree trunk before covering it with green tarp, while we gathered our supplies on the bank. As Zeke tightened the knots, we shouldered our packs then stared into the wall of thick vegetation. Only an hour earlier, it had rained, the drops coming down in torrents, and the leaves shimmered with moisture that gave them an even stronger perception of solidity.

  “I’m the trail,” Zeke answered, passing through our group to push through a curtain of vines, flicking one aside that housed a particularly large spider guarding a drooping web and raised two legs in protest. “Remember, your feet step where my feet step.”

  Then he turned to Lucio, his expression serious.

  “And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  Chapter 67

  “This is insanity,” said Darian, a hand up to his forehead. “Absolute insanity.”

  “A straight line drive if I’ve ever seen one,” added Slugger, spitting into the dirt. “Nothing going to stop that.”

  We stood in a semicircle where we had intersected with a path. Or, more aptly described, a road of destruction.

  For as far as we could see to the left and right, upturned dirt replaced trees as if a rototiller had chewed through the soil. And rather than be eliminated, the trees were deconstructed— great piles of leaves formed the sides of the path, followed by branches stacked in neat pyramids, then ramps of bare trunks. Strips of bark paved a sidewalk down the center of the dirt, and the muddied footprints over their tops were accompanied by the tracks of all-terrain vehicles to the left and right.

  “It’s no mystery who did it,” I said, picking up a piece of bark and snapping it in half. “If it stands in the way of their goal, then what’s the point?”

  “He seems good at making enemies,” growled Zeke, letting loose dirt trail between his fingers. “Especially here. We’re close now; keep following me. And let me talk— if they’ve already seen this, then they’ll be stirred up like vipers. No reason to poke the nest.”

  “And who, exactly, would that be?” asked Lola with a squint. “I don’t remember hearing of anyone major this deep.”

  “The Sanctuary, of course. You could say they like to blend in. You’re not the only one with secrets,” Zeke answered, though Lola’s eyes lit up at the mention of The Sanctuary. Then he dipped back into the trees before we could prepare a follow-up question, walking fast enough that we had to jog to catch up. After a mile, he slowed, and the forest began to thin, the trees becoming more regular and interspersed, the vegetation falling away to grass.

  “Hey, apples!” exclaimed Lucio, standing on tiptoe to see a branch so laden with plump red fruit that it arched down towards him, as if offering a meal. He reached a hand upwards, and the fruit’s glossy skin seemed to glisten in the sunlight, making my mouth water— never before had I seen one so perfectly shaped, and now there were dozens within reach, promising an explosion of juicy flavor with each bite. His fingers grazed against one of the lower ones, and he grasped it, twisting if free just as Zeke knocked it away to bounce along the ground.

  “Don’t pick them,” he hissed, kicking the fallen apple further away before Lucio could scramble to pick it up. “They’re poisonous. Just one bite and you’ll be dead within the hour.”

  “And how would you know—” started Lucio, then he sighed. “Right, Survivalist. They look just like apples, though. Are you telling me that they’re not?”

  “They’re apples, all right,” replied Zeke, weaving between the trees in what I could see was now forming a grid. “But they’re something else too. There will be plenty to eat soon; we just have to get through the outer layer. It’s a defense mechanism, and a damn good one.”

  “Against what, hungry Lucios?” Slugger laughed, though he too looked longingly at the fruit.

  “Try leading an army that�
��s been marching for days through the jungle into an orchard. First thing they’re going to do is steal the fruit. And an hour later, before the fighting begins, half the force is dying,” Zeke answered, snapping his fingers. “No one expects them to be poisonous.”

  “And why would anyone want to get an army through here?”

  “Because most wars are fought out of greed, fear, or a drive to righteousness. And all can be found here. Now those are edible. Just don’t touch the apples.”

  Zeke pointed up ahead, and I saw a small bridge arch out of the jungle floor, leading over a stream that circled far into the distance. Small tributaries broke off from the source, distributing water down the rows of trees, each decorated with their own varieties of colorful fruit. The water was as clear as glass, and rainbow pebbles made up its bed, twisting and spiraling in patterns too complex for nature.

  “That’s not right,” said Darian as we arrived, and Lucio had pulled down a plum, sinking his teeth into it with an eager bite. “That tree doesn’t just have plums. There’s lemons too. And hey, is that a tomato? Those don’t grow on trees; they take vines!”

  “Good eye,” said Zeke, handing Darian a tomato, which he stared at dubiously. “But the trees here aren’t picky.”

  Darian walked to the trunk, circling it once, trying to pick out points that it had been grafted together— but there were no telltale strands where it appeared to be split or combined. He squinted at the bark, pushing his fingers around a groove at the base, and spoke again.

  “Look at this; they have names too. This one is Abigail. Strange name for a tree.”

  “Right, doesn’t seem like a very ‘poplar’ one to me.” Lucio laughed and avoided the pit of a plum Slugger threw at him.

  “That’s because,” came a voice from ahead as a man stepped out from the trunks, a cane tapping the dirt as he approached, “it’s not the name of the tree, but those who planted them. Zeke, it’s been some time. What brings you here? Are these fresh students for me?”

  “Not of your normal variety, Taylor,” Zeke answered and embraced the man, clapping him on the back. “But they have plenty to learn. Today, though, we ask a favor— humbly, of course.”

  “Well, of course, we can mix up our regular arrangement. Though only one minute in my land and you’re already asking my assistance; think of the manners you are teaching them. They’ll pick it up from you and it will mix right in,” Taylor said and stepped to where we could get a better view of him. And aside from Zeke, every one of us stared, words forgotten as we studied his appearance.

  A beard covered his lower face, stretching down in a braid towards his abdomen— but it was of every natural color I had ever seen. From his chin, ginger hairs started, then his left cheek sprouted black, his right blond, and patches of gold, silver, and brunette fed into the braid before merging at the tip. His eyes seemed unable to decide their hue, shifting depending on the light— at one moment, they were green, then blue, and after that, they took on a hazelnut that disappeared as soon as it solidified.

  As our sight traveled downwards, they quickly forgot the colors, and rapidly took in far more alarming features. Fur covered his hands, which gripped the walking stick, and rather than fingers, he possessed gnarled claws with nails as long as toothpicks. He wore no shoes, and the texture of his feet resembled that of a tortoise— leathery and sharp angled, tinted ash grey. But the strongest gasp came from Arial when he turned and spoke over his shoulder to us.

  “First, refreshments. My treat, and I doubt you’ll find any like them unless you return here again.”

  And there, escaping his shirt through two holes specially tailored into the fabric, two small feathered wings folded across his back, twitching slightly with each movement of his cane.

  Chapter 68

  “It’s not poison,” announced Taylor when Darian inspected the table of food. “I promise. Well, besides the apple, that is.”

  Twelve bowls floated on the table before us, an elliptical wooden bowl that held a pond in its center, with rainbow fish that darted around the rim. Two stout trees grew just beyond each tip, with thick limbs that spiderwebbed across the floor to meet their sister, intertwining to form the curved benches upon which we sat. In the bowls, the food was near unrecognizable— there was fruit shaped like a long strawberry but sweeter than any I had ever tasted, followed by strips of what appeared to be plain chicken, but each bite exploded in a flavor of hidden sauces. Next there was bread— but the consistency was that of dough, and I could taste the air pockets hidden in each slice, leaving a salty sweet flavor that lingered just beyond my sensory grasp. For drink, Taylor served us pure water, but it seemed heavier somehow, thicker, so that only a single sip was necessary to quench the deepest thirst. And there were other, stranger options— oysters that seemed to grow steak within their shells, with pearls of bitter chocolate, and a variety of cheeses that I had yet to investigate.

  In the center, floating on its own small plate but completely untouched, a lone apple stood guard over the remaining bowls. An ominous sign in the room Taylor had introduced as the introductory hall for new students.

  “Why even put that on the table?” asked Darian, gesturing to it, though he tried one of the passing bowls.

  “As a reminder,” Taylor answered, “that without protection, none of this would be possible.”

  “And why, exactly, would you need protection if—” started Darian, but Lola put a hand on his shoulder and spoke over him.

  “Because they’re Blenders, Darian, and proficient ones,” she said, then noticing his blank stare, continued, “Throughout history, they’ve been viewed as unnatural quite often. Some people aren’t as accepting of their possible looks as we are.”

  “Ah, yes, in part that is true,” responded Taylor, flexing his claw. “But the look we choose for ourselves. More than a look, though, it’s a change of essence— and to live, one must adapt, one must change. This skill for survival seems to be what others fear most. But there are other reasons— powerful Blenders are high in demand. Of all the powers, Blenders are historically captured and enslaved the most often. And they’re used against their will for weapons, for trinkets, for plenty of options. Often stolen long before their prime. But here, here they learn and practice their art in peace.”

  “And a booby trap of poison apples will keep intruders out, then?” said Lucio. “Doesn’t seem like a strong plan to me.”

  “Ah, it isn’t, it isn’t,” said Taylor. “Should the armies come en masse, we would stand less chance of survival than a mouse in a hurricane. But this at least stops the rogue band who wanders by, looking to score an easy prize. To graduate their first year, all students here must plant their first blended tree as part of the defense, to understand a wall is needed between us and the outside world.”

  “But really, what’s the worst weapon you could make?” asked Darian. “Doesn’t seem like Blenders are that dangerous to me. Poison apples are only dangerous if you eat them.”

  “Ah, but that’s just the thing. Blender, really, is something of a misnomer. Rather, it should be Shaper— we see an essence, and we shape it how we see fit.”

  “Oh no, now the pears taste like oranges. How will we survive?” drawled Lucio. “I don’t see what the big deal is.”

  “I don’t think you understand, boy,” came the answer, the voice curt. “Like I said, we can change an essence. And from an essence, power is drawn. With a tap or two here, or a few tweaks from the masters, well, nothing is certain anymore.”

  “Are you saying you can change powers?” Arial asked, leaning in as her eyes widened. “That they aren’t permanent?”

  “Well, you didn’t hear it from me, young lady,” Taylor said with a wink. “But I could imagine that such a thought would be cause for panic, no?”

  “Well, yeah, if you could flip an entire army’s power for one battle then back the next, absolutely. Even individually, the impact would be huge. I would know,” said Darian, looking down at his own han
ds.

  “Well, let it be known, then, that changing back is not so easy. We do change essences, after all, and essences are not to be trifled with. The power shift itself is more of an aftereffect, or so say our studies. But if powers can be changed, rest assured it is only the strongest Blenders who could do such a thing. And even then, imperfectly.”

  “Wait, does that mean that someone would still have a bit of their old power? That they would have two powers?” pressed Arial, and Darian scoffed.

  “Two powers? Whoever heard of such a thing?” But then he paused and looked down at his hands again, his eyebrows knitting together in thought.

  Taylor stared long at him, opened his mouth, closed it, then continued.

  “To change who someone is, that can only be accomplished with great difficulty. All their lives, they have been themselves— to become another, things do not always fit so well afterwards. There can be some overlap.”

  “So there can be two powers?” Darian demanded. “I mean, as a Mimic, I’ve held more than one at once. But never for long, and they were always weaker.”

  “I’ve heard of similar powers that have been mixed,” I said, drawing on my memory from The Directory. “Though they always seemed similar. Something like a Silver Tongue and a Pied Piper can go together.”

  “Well,” said Taylor and took a handful of food from one of the floating bowls. “Think of these containers as a person. Really, only one food type should fit in each. If it’s similar enough, it often goes unnoticed by the taster. Or different tasters may characterize the same food differently.” Then he pulled another bowl closer and deposited the handful inside. “Sometimes, there is a touch of other powers.”