“What are their names?” asked Morell.

  “They are me and we are they of the Brambillions. Just as I am them in this form, they are me as we are one. Our true numbers uncountable but the hosts we control are few at a time.

  “You said that you are prisoners?” asked Morell. “You seem far too mighty to be prisoners to anyone.”

  “Our biomass is infected with a blight. As it is a part of who we are, we cannot remove it. Its poison is too tightly intertwined with our essence. We try to separate ourselves from it, create new mass but the infection always follows. As long as it exists, we cannot be free of it to break free of this environment. We are surrounded by lush a fruitful land. But to leave here and carry the blight would infect everything else. To kill the blight as it is would mean our destruction. So here we remain in this place until such a time the blight is destroyed, or it overtakes everything and we are overtaken by it. We attempt to migrate to new masses, but the blight never ceases to infect.”

  “I would like to try and help you.” Said Morell. “I understand the spore better than anyone I know.”

  “You understand the spore? You would rid the Brambillions of the blight?”

  “I would like to know more. If I could understand the blight then perhaps, I can sever it from the rest. I have lots of information in my book…Wait! my book!”

  “Buuuk?” asked the Brambillions

  “Yes! Yes!” Morell shouted excitedly while jumping on one foot over to the water’s edge. “There is an item down in the water that I cannot reach! It’s just out here!” he pointed to the nearby pool. “Please! Use your long vines to stretch into the water and pull it from the bottom!” The Brambillions glared curiously at him.

  “Spore knowledge is there?” it asked.

  “Yes! Below the surface! Way down! Please get it for me!” The Brambillion to his right slithered over to the water and sank numerous vines into the pool. After a moment or two, one of the vines emerged, dangling the pack upside down with the contents falling out of it. “Yes! Yes! Those! He shouted those things! I need those things!” Wide leaves for what could have made up the Brambillion’s hands scooped up the contents on the surface. Once collected, the vines elongated to offer them to Morell. They dumped water and slop and a few empty jars at his feet, but also…the book. A terrible feeling took hold as he knew the tome had been waterlogged.

  “No, no no.” he said hobbling over to collect it. Once picked up, the paper and cover squished in his hands. He opened it to find every page smeared and smudged in such a manner that the findings he’d painstakingly spent years to find were now illegible. Turning to the last page, the picture of Siouxsie was just as ruined like the rest. His heart sank to such depths that his good leg could no longer hold him, and he fell back into the mud.

  “You are not using both of your lower stems to move.” Shook the large white flower.

  “No.” grimaced Morell. “I’ve hurt my ankle, my lower stem and it causes me pain to walk on it.”

  “Perhaps we can help you.” The first brambillion said, moving closer. The sight of the towering thing closing in wasn’t as frightening as before but still felt unnerving to have it looming so close. A vine as thin as a noodle elongated itself from the end of one of the larger ones to wrap itself about Morell’s ankle. He winced as it drew tight. “The bottom part has swollen.” It spoke as the noodle constricted like a belt cinched too tight. “The inner connections are angry.”

  “Yes, very.” Morell replied with gritted teeth.

  “We will quell the angriness. Hold very still.” It said before another vine unrolled itself with a long thin razor-sharp thorn that looked like a sewing needle upon the end.

  “Quell the angriness?” asked Morell with a growing fear. “No, don’t touch it! Leave it alone, It’s alright! Don’t quell it!” But before he could object anymore, four more vines unrolled themselves to take hold of his other limbs. They seized him and held him in place as the needle thorn inched closer. “Let go of me!” he shouted, trying futilely to fight them off. The vines went rigid and he could fight no more as they’d become as hard as iron. Morell twitched and bucked to get free. The sharp needle slipped into the skin just above the foot slow but forcefully just the same. “Ow! Stop it! Ow! That hurts!” and then, just as fast as it began, the needle withdrew and a quickly spreading sensation of soothing began to fade the pain away. The iron limbs relaxed themselves and withdrew as well to leave him free to move. He pulled his ankle close to inspect it only to find that the terrible pain was gone.

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  The only traces of being pricked was a tiny spot of blood that we wiped away with his shirt sleeve. Immediately, the fatness of the swelling retracted. A finger prod here and there to the muscles gave no throbs of pain. Morell practically leapt from the ground to test the healed foot. He placed the foot down and set his weight upon it. “It doesn’t hurt anymore!” he exclaimed with delight. He stood on one leg then the healed one and back again. “You’ve healed it! I’m so grateful! Now that I can walk again, I can start searching for my friends!”

  “We will rid ourselves of those invasive to spore.”

  “No, no!” protested Morell. “Help me to find my companions and I will remove them when I leave! I need them to venture beyond the mist!”

  “We would accept your help with ridding ourselves of the blight in exchange.”

  “I would be happy to share what I know!”

  “Then come.” Said the closest Brambillion as it unfolded a great leaf the size of a merchant’s cart and held it out like a palm. Morell snatched up his mace, blanket and pack before climbing into the leaf. It carried him high off the ground in the same manner that the shadow girl had so many nights ago. “They are not far away.” The creature said. It’s bulbous mass of razor barb twisted and coiled about itself to push through the bog and the others followed behind.

  Far to the north, Ignatius, Robert and Siouxsie stood awestruck in what they beheld. As they walked the long incline back to Oldvale, what should have been ruins surrounded by barren lands were no longer to be found. Instead, the three were greeted by a sight as heart lifting as it was impossible. The old ruins had been restored to stand tall and glorious in the form of a central temple surrounded by multitudes of people walking this way and that. But not just any people; witches. All witches, each with their pointed hats and brooms they intermingled in crowds of moving colors. The trio marveled at the sight of a thriving and bustling community full of witches wearing every color of dyed sashes instead of black leather. And as they approached in the company of their hosts, the golds and oranges and blues and greens and yellows and red seemed even more vibrant. As they did, more and more stopped to stare and point at them.

  When they walked toward the crowd, they parted in a wide swath to allow them to pass. Siouxsie watched as each witch who saw them removed their hats and threw flowers into their path. So many flowers, in fact, that it created a thick carpet of flowers for their winklepickers to tread upon as they began calling out: “For those who mourn! For those who mourn! For those who mourn!”

  “This is weird.” Said Robert “What are they saying?”

  “They offer gifts of flowers and sympathy for those you’ve lost.” Said Vickiri over his shoulder “Here in Spellvale we only wear black after someone has died. Even then its only for a short time.”

  “For those who mourn!” smiled a young girl who materialized out of the crowd. She rushed up to place flowers in the buckled bands of the boy’s hats. Ignatius bowed for her to reach the height of his hat. Once placed, she took off her hat and bowed deeply before vanishing off into the sea of people. Robert waited until she was gone before plucking the flower, scowling at it and pitching it aside. Vickiri led them through the center of a grand market covered in tables and carts covered in goods and foods of every kind.

  “This is fascinating!” gushed Siouxsie. “I’ve never seen the like! Clothes of every color! People and flowers and foods galore!”

  “It’s probably a mirage.” mumbled Robert “A lingering effect from having fallen through that magic circle. I don’t like it.”

  “Oh, don’t be such a grumblebutt.” she nudged him. “I’ve never seen a mirage that could be this one’s equal. I can’t say I’ve ever beheld something so immaculate.”

  “For those who mourn.” said some passing strangers, tossing handfuls of flowers at their feet. Vickiri led them inside the temple which looked strange because it still had its roof. Inside, the halls and rooms smelled of incense and spice. In a room at the very back they entered to find a grand library, shelves filled with books.