He secretly hoped the air in the tiny jars might be enough to help make the pack buoyant enough to float on its own like a bubble. Upon consideration, the weight of the book and hefty leather bag must have been enough to counter-weight any hopes he clung to of seeing it emerge on its own. Morell paddled about a little bit hoping that it might somehow return. With each passing moment that hope dwindled. “No…no…no…What have I done? What have I done? I’m so stupid!” The water seemed to get colder. Strange flashes of light passed before his eyes in colorful waves. He felt light headed. Growing weary of keeping his head above water, Morell paddled back the direction he’d come to find his blanket and mace waiting where he’d left them.

  With no more energy to spare he dragged himself out of the water. Desperate fingers clawed their way through handfuls of mud to pull him out. On hands and knees, he crawled back his blanket where he struggled to wrap it around himself before collapsing. Everything seemed so hopeless; lost, abandoned, and now he’d thrown away the only record of the knowledge he’d gathered. It was the most important thing but now it was gone. All gone. “I AM a stupid boy.” He said to himself. “My stupidity will be my undoing.” Morell tried to rest but the shifting uneasiness wiggling its way through his body would not leave as he lay motionless with one cheek in the black mud. One hand tight around the blanket, the other arm and hand outstretched to the tangled mass of green razor barb at his fingertips. “But you can survive here, can’t you?” he asked the plant. “This is your world, and you can live and thrive here.” His fingers traced their way across the edges of the leaves with their sharp ends. His thumb slowly scraped its way across the tip of a needle like thorn until the flesh gave way and made him yelp.

  “Ow!” he said, pulling his hand back. Miniscule ridges along the skin on his thumb filled with bright red crimson as the pinprick filled them. Watching it, the crimson fluid seemed to hum and resonate with a strange thrumming sound like a lute with one hand across the opening of the body. “Hummmmuuuhhh.” He sighed, trying to replicate the sound it made. “Urrrrummmmmmssshhhutthheeemmmurrrummmm.” After a long breath, the lights behind his eyes flashed again in all the colors of the rainbow. The sound thrumming in his head got louder and the pitch of it somehow felt comforting. “Shuurrrrrrrrruuuummmmmmmeeeeeettthhhh.” Beeeeerrrrrruummmeerrruuuussshhheeeettt.” The tones and breaths came faster now and his mouth mimicked as it sounded in his head. “Urumeshthurum..Shurumeth. Berrrrummerushet.” And then, just like a witch uses magic words to conjure fire or wind or lightning, the razorbarb that had cut him began to move on its own! It twitched a little at first but then more and more. Like a miniature serpent uncoiling itself, it drew nearer. In the beginning he was afraid. With nothing to lose he gave into his fascination and held his hand out to the vine. As he did so, the razorbarb did the strangest of things; a bulb nestled next to the base of the coil unraveled and blossomed to reveal a beautiful white blossom!

  “Hello.” He said to it, letting his fingers graze the delicate petals. “Urumeshthurum Shurmeth Berumerushet.” The blossom spread itself wider and bypassed the mud slathered fingers to find the thumb. Once there, the petals painted themselves in the blood, soaking in the bright red color. Morell couldn’t believe his eyes. The petals drew blood in like a quill drawing ink. Bright red hues crept their way across the virgin surfaces until they were all painted a bright living crimson. “You are so beautiful.” He whispered with a smile. “Shuritem iggety gem.” The words made no sense to him but still they leapt from his tongue like words he’d spoken a thousand times before. Shivers of movement began to ripple through the vine. When it turned again, it flipped about to reveal a hidden membrane like that of a transparent eyelid that opened and closed. At first, he was confused to why it had acted in such a way. Upon seeing the membrane vibrate, the reason quickly became clear. It made a sound not too unlike a person pushing air through puckered lips. That sound mimicked the thrumming in his head as though it had been speaking the entire time, but he lacked the conscious mind to understand it.

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  “Brrrruummmmpppth.” It started. “Brrruummpptthh Bit brrrruummmmmttthhhhuuurrrrriiiiit”

  “Burumpth Bit Brumthurit.” He said back to it. This made the plant stand straight and tall, the redness of the blood upon its petals being sucked into the center where it turned virgin white once again.

  “Wireeeeeyooherinnnn” it vibrated. “Wirrreeeeeyooherin wire you hirin wiryuhirinwiyuhirin wireyuhirin” it said faster and faster. Repeating the same lines now over and over. The thrumming Morell’s head grew louder and louder, the syllables grinding themselves against one another in a chaotic nonsense at incomprehensible speeds. Wiryuhirin wireyuhirinwiryuhere” His skull felt like it might split form the inside from the grating noise the plant made. The boy held his breath and concentrated as hard as he could manage to block it out. As the palms clamped over his ears protected them, they also allowed him to hear something else below the awful din.

  “Whyyyyy are youuuuu here?” the vibrations spoke.

  “Did? Did you just speak to me?” he asked, lowering his hands from his head

  “Why are you here?” it asked again.

  “I’m here by mistake.” He answered. “I’m trying to get out.”

  “You are in the wrong direction.” vibrated the plant.

  “You can talk!” Morell exclaimed with joy. “You can understand me!”

  “The red water in your stems have the psilicybe. Traces of the blue spore are within you.” It said.

  “My blood! Yes, my blood has the polyphylectic from the mushroom!”

  “We have seen your kind before and drank their red. Their red did not have the psilicybe. You are like them but are like us. You are a new mushroom we have not seen. Connect and speak with us. Share your gills, stems, volva, rings, mycelium, hyphae and spore. You seek and see like the moving man but feel our vibration to speak as we do. You are not invasive to the spore? You are friend, part of the connection?”

  “Yes! Friend to the spore!” Morell said. “There are others with me, but they cannot speak as we do. I must find them?”

  “There are two others somewhere in that direction.” The plant bent to pointed off into the mist. “They are hiding well but we will find them. We will get rid of them before they become invasive to spore.”

  “I want to find them too!” If you help me to find my friends, I will take them away from here for spore to be safe! They are friend to spore but are lost.”

  “Always lost are those without roots.” Spoke the blossom with its fanned white petals. “We can travel together while we speak of gills, stems, volva, rings, mycelium, hyphae and spore.”

  “My leg is hurt. I can’t travel.”

  “Then we might carry you.” Said the plant. Deep sloshing sounds echoed just out of view in the mist. Louder the sounds became as a mighty dark form began to push itself through the grey mists. Morell marveled as one of the titan-sized monstrosities he’d evaded earlier came pushing through the bog on its writhing mass of razorbarb and vines. Twenty feet of twisted vegetation moved closer until it towered over him. Trying to be brave, Morell swallowed the natural instinct to panic and remained as still as he could in the face of such a thing. It appeared as before, an almost human like upper torso of defined arms and a head seated atop a shifting mass of vegetation. The plant with the white flower next to him closed upon itself and slipped back into the water with a “shlorp.” At the same time the head of the plant monster turned itself toward him and opened itself wide to reveal another virgin white flower. When it did so, the area just below the head turned itself to reveal another membrane. As it shimmered and shook the voice of the small plant became larger and more ominous with its bigger mouth.

  “Now.” Said the plant. “Now we may continue in this host.”

  “Who are you?” asked Morell as he staggered to stand on one foot. “What is your name?”

  “We…” paused the deep mighty voice as it waved a hand toward more of the forms slowly approaching from the edges of the mist. “We are the Brambillions, the keepers and prisoners of the bog. We are gills, stems, volva, rings, mycelium, hyphae and spore.” Ten more titans lumbered into view, riding atop masses of razorbarb. Each base was the size of his grandfather’s home.