A Fistful of Dust

Paul

The sloth-paced crawl they called ‘progress’ owed half to being grounded and half to the sheer challenge of working together. There were so many chores to do: forage for food, cook meals, light the campfire, bury the campfire, dig latrines, bury latrines, pitch the tent, pack the tent, pick up trash, prepare water for drinking, cleaning, and bathing, then Rana insisted they start keeping a regular watch at night… and nobody wanted to do anything.

Things had to be more than fair; they had to seem fair.

Certain people were best suited for specific jobs, like Kenta and washing dishes—he could soap, wash, and dry every plate, pot, and utensil in under a minute—but they couldn’t force him to do it every night. Though Paul contented himself with following instructions, Wendi grew absentminded with repetitive tasks, Cassie struggled through her leg-handicap to complete simple chores in twice the average time, and Daniel…

Once, Daniel tried to clean a plate with his magic. He’s usually very smart.

Lea wanted to divide the group’s necessary labor evenly regardless of difficulty, while Daniel argued they needed to split their time fairly. After days of debate, they settled on a daily rotating schedule of chore-partners that never left one person to do everything while avoiding ineffective pairs like a Daniel/Cassie day. Not everyone felt satisfied, but they complained less after resolving the issue.

On the road, they were easily distracted by the sights and delights of the worlds they wandered through. They often stopped to admire the scenery until Kenta’s haste or Lea’s punctuality urged them forward. Today they’d found a field of colossal sunflowers. Flowers more than six feet wide sprouted from stalks two stories tall!

“More harmless ambient magic,” Rana said as a swallowtail butterfly the size of a kite fluttered by. “We’ll use up all our luck at this rate.”

Wendi stopped every few feet to gather fallen sunflower seeds large as pizza slices.

“You know that’s not how statistics work,” Daniel said.

The frog girl shrugged. “All the same, I’d feel better if something would hurry up and try to kill us already.”

Not long after, Paul glanced behind to see the giant butterfly get caught in an equally large spider’s web.

The constant walking posed another challenge. Paul tried to keep pace but, when he fell behind, he’d be carried in his candlestick form by Cassie, Rana, Kenta, or sometimes Wendi. Each one made for a different kind of traveling companion.

Today marked the first time Paul connected minds with Kenta since their escape from Eastwood. Having pushed the others into leaving a tropical jungle with thousands of gorgeous flowers, Kenta’s mood skewed melancholy.

Two islands collided in a void.

Paul entered his friend’s inner world by crossing the threshold of an abandoned hotel. The place seemed darker than he remembered.

Glass fragments crunched beneath his feet as he passed under dozens of shattered lightbulbs. On the warped wood of the front desk lay a rusted reception bell which rang with a damp clunk as he struck it. The smell of mildewed carpet pervaded the hallway, Kenta’s sense memories blending into Paul’s perception. The shadows of mice and roaches scattered at the flickering illumination of his candle head, though he never saw a living animal.

What had been a quiet, safe place in the past rotted. The once-bright wallpaper faded and peeled in strips. A twisted staircase moaned beneath his feet, and the windows were bricked shut. Paul didn’t have to wonder what had happened. The wounds they each bore were all akin, Kenta’s just closer to the surface.

All the doors were locked except one, fallen off its hinges and propped against the wall. Kenta sat in an open windowsill staring into the void but looking through the eyes of his physical body. The Kaminoke’s inner self looked as tall, long-haired, and strong inside his head as out. No change in self-perception.

Paul aborted his first step into the room on instinct. The gaping expanse of a pit at his feet swallowed the floor to the brink. He backpedaled in alarm and collapsed in the doorframe. How hadn’t he seen the hole immediately? The light of his candle flame couldn’t find the bottom. Yet, somehow, Paul felt eerily confident the hole was not empty but occupied.

Remnants littered the corners rimming the hole: dusty dolls, torn crayon drawings, a faded pink teacup, and the cracked residue of colorful paint. Paul recognized this place from before Eastwood, and the transformation shocked him. While he wanted to help, he feared any attempt to pick up the broken toys or blow away the dust would be rejected as ‘meddling.’ He’d be thrown out, never to return.

Paul settled in as they traveled, adjusting to the changes during long periods of silence where they both focused on using their powers in the outside world. Neither interfered with the other. He spotted a familiar board with a 19x19 grid and two bags of colored stones.

“Want to play a game to pass the time?”

Kenta turned to look and, acknowledging Paul’s presence for the first time, said, “Sure.”

Dark strands of Kaminoke hair coiled over every surface of the room. They climbed the walls, hung from the ceiling, and poured like rivers into the pit, tendrils idly churning in place. A few tentacles stirred, scooping up the board and stones to ferry them back and forth between the boys on their move.

Paul took the nine-stone handicap he always did—Kenta excelled in this game—and made a box of black stones within the grid. He placed them on the traditional star points at the center, four corners starting with intersection (4,4), and the four midpoints between those corners.

“We’ve almost reached the Wilderness, haven’t we?” Kenta said as a strand of his hair reached into the bag of white stones and began the game.

Paul nodded as he placed another black stone. “Where the trouble starts.”

“More than trouble,” Kenta replied with another move. “The way they are now, I doubt this group could handle a beast.”

“You don’t think we can do it?” Paul asked, confused since Kenta had supported their journey from the beginning.

“It doesn’t matter,” Kenta said. “The Kaminoke leave no one behind.”

Doesn’t matter? Paul thought, baffled. “We’ve done it before. Although, we had Nes to lead us then.”

Nesyamun had been the oldest by a year; taller, stronger, and could make you feel at ease with a look. He was the kind of guy who never got mad. Even when he got into an argument or became frustrated, he never yelled. As the one member who could get a consensus out of seven lost kids, Lea had been forced to fill his role.

“We probably wouldn’t have survived the fight without him.”

Kenta smiled. “You know who taught me how to play Go?” Paul had started playing with him on Eastwood, sending their moves back and forth between their two containment units via Shew Stone. Kenta had already been an incredible player at the time. “Nes.”

They grinned at one another, reminiscing. “Ever wonder what old bandage-face has been up to without us?”

“All the time.” The smile was gone as if it’d never been.

Paul nearly smacked himself. It wasn’t insensitivity as much as plain stupidity. He knew this was Harumi’s room before the T.O. found the Kaminoke siblings. Kenta had thought about Harumi and Nes every day for the past three years.

Struggling to get the smile back without making things worse, Paul said, “Don’t worry about her; she has Nes. He’ll keep her safe.” Kenta didn’t look relieved. “Besides, Harumi is tougher than she looks. Remember the time she hollowed out one of my candles and put a firecracker inside?” Paul hadn’t come to appreciate the unrepentant prankster’s sense of humor until his isolation in the Facility. “I screamed like a little girl when I went to light it.”

He laughed at himself, which became awkward when Kenta didn’t join in.

The smile did not return. If anything, the fond memories made Kenta gloomier. They continued their game until Kenta frowned and said, “You still can’t use your magic to play?”

Paul shook his head. “The game is too complicated for me to find the best move outright.”

“That’s what I like about it.” Kenta chuckled, the change in topic doing him good. “What are you even doing there, Paul?” The smile had finally returned.

“Well, I’m not bothering anyone if I stay in this corner.” Paul didn’t know why Kenta kept trying to make him fight head-on when it was never worth the effort.

With a teacher’s patience, the older boy explained the concept again, as if this time would make the difference. “You’re making it easy for me to surround your whole army.” Then his eyes hardened, and they weren’t talking about Go. “You can’t win like that. You’re not even playing the game.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Kenta had said.

Paul understood the difference between them now. Paul would rather accept defeat than engage in a pointless struggle. On the other hand, Kenta would fight a battle he had no hope of winning to the bitter end.

Nothing could change Kenta’s mind. He would find Harumi or die.

The Kaminoke siblings were found abandoned in this very hotel. The little boy wouldn’t listen to reason. He desperately fought to protect his sister until Calephor subdued Kenta by force.

Kenta was always here—on the edge of the hole in his heart. He’d tried filling the void but couldn’t truly move on or heal with hope and worry gnawing at the wound.

Paul wondered if Kenta would someday close this hole or fall in trying? Everything depended on Paul finding the T.O.