The Wyrms of &alon

Slowly, breathing all the way out. I bent forward, chest and shoulders crumpling before I turned around to face her.

“You have a flair for timing, little lady.” I said, with a shudder. “I’ll give you that.”

Sitting up, I leaned back against the bathroom wall. Soreness weighed on my shoulders like suspender straps two sizes too small.

“Why are you so sad, Mr. Genneth?”

Andalon stared at me with pity. She knelt beside me, on the cusp of sobbing, examining me with the throat-caught horror of a child finding a seam torn open in their favorite stuffed animal, with the fluffy stuffing poking out and scattering with the wind.

Then, her eyes widened in surprise. Her pupils dilated. She caught a glimpse of… something.

“On your chest…” She reached out to touch me. “You’ve—”

—Her phantom fingers phased through my clothes, but stopped when they made contact with my scaly violet hide. I felt her touch, and—by the astonished look in Andalon’s eyes—she felt my changed skin.

We shuddered as one.

Andalon’s breathing quickened as she yanked her arm back. But something was happening to her, and whatever it was, it was too late to stop it.

Andalon’s hair and eyes flickered like a broken monitor, flashing radiance. It was the same light I’d seen on the night of Rayph’s play—the light that had subdued Aicken. Now, I watched as that same, pale hue precipitated all around us in an army of haunted flames. Before I could react, the flames converged into a narrow stream that shot at me, passed through my body and from there to Andalon. Some of the wisps merged into her, joining with the light that grew in her eyes. Others orbited around us in spurting motions.

My eyes darted back and forth between Andalon, myself, and the swirling spectral flames. I could have sworn I heard a voice whisper in my ears, but I couldn’t make out the words.

The fires’ orbits quickened. The flames pulsed.

Andalon bent forward. “Why?” She shook her head. “Why does it hurt so much?” She wrapped her arms around herself, cringing in pain.

I trembled. “What…?” Seeing a child in pain made me forget all of my troubles.

Andalon stared into my eyes with a piercing, tear-edged gaze.

“I can feel your hurt, Mr. Genneth.” She reached for me. “But… it’s different.” She shook her head. “Why is it different?”

The ghost-fire’s flashes quickened. The flames drew close. More and more of the flames seeped in from the fabric of the air, spurring the swirling flames to wrap faster and tighter until Andalon had disappeared behind a burning cocoon.

The cocoon thickened. The gaps between the flames closed shut. In between them, I saw Andalon beat her arms, straining against the confinement.

Without a second thought, I ran toward the flame cocoon, only to wince and yelp as Andalon’s light ignited within the cocoon. Streams of light burst through the cocoon’s seams. Their heat seared me. Startled, I recoiled—though I felt no pain.

Andalon’s light drank up the wisps, consuming them like fuel. In an instant, the cocoon fell apart, its flames dimming into a swirl of sparks and dying embers. Within, Andalon was flush with light. Her hair and nightgown billowed in an unknown wind.

Then the swell came to an end. A decrescendo ensued. Sparks and embers dimmed to ash; ash rained down, evaporated. The wind died away as Andalon’s radiance receded. Gently, she fell to her knees.

I held my breath. Awe could be just as numbing as terror.

Dazed, Andalon looked around. Every glance was a double-take, like she was a newborn seeing the world for the first time. Eventually, her eyes wandered back to face me.

“Just now, I remembered,” she said, nodding hesitantly. “I remembered more!” She nodded again, this time with more confidence.

I blew a tired raspberry. “That… after all that just happened, that’s all you have to say?!” I was angry, irritated, confused, and terrified—it was not my best moment.

I immediately regretted it. Andalon’s face crumpled. I might as well have thrown a brick at her. Her lips contorted; she started to cry.

With a groan, I leaned my head back and sighed.

“No,” I looked back down at Andalon, “I… I didn’t mean to upset you. I…”

Stiffening, I pursed my lips. I rubbed one of my shoulders.

God, my body is a mess.

When this was all over—if it ever was over—my acupuncturist was going to make a killing off breaking up all the stress-induced strain I’d been piling onto my shoulders.

With a trembling breath, I sat down cross-legged and clasped my hands together.

“Please, Andalon” I asked, trying to smile without breaking into tears, “could you tell me what you’ve remembered?”

Sniffling, she nodded.

“I know what’s happening to you, Mr. Genneth. I know what’s happening to you, and to Mrs. BokBok, and Mr. Turk, and the Scary Mean Lady—”

“—Mr. Turk?” I asked.

Andalon tilted her head, perplexed. “Turkurt. Kurturk. Somethin’ like—”

“—Do you mean Kurt?” I asked.

Andalon nodded.

Jonan’s words replayed in my mind.

Life is a race between yourself and disaster. The winner is whoever gets their shit together first.

It was wise advice. I took yet another deep breath, just in case.

“Please,” I asked, “tell me everything.”

She smiled, but weakly. I think she was unsure of herself.

I guess that makes us two peas in a pod.

“Do you ‘member the darkness?” she asked.

“Yes. What is—”

“—The darkness is already in you, Mr. Genneth. It’s already here. It’s in everybody. And,” her voice lowered in fear, “it’s gonna end you.” Andalon bit her lip. She pressed her hands onto her head and shook in doubt and horror. “It’s going to end everyone. Everyone. Everyone.” She shuddered. “And Andalon can’t stop it. Nobody can stop it.”

Now would be when my heart would have raced.

“Andalon, you said you saved people. How can you save people from the fungus if you can’t stop it from making them sick?”

Fudge.

It suddenly came back to me.

“And then there’s the stuff with our memories,” I said. “I saw someone who was infected—Type One… he seemed to be losing his memories. But, Kurt and I… we’re Type Two, and the opposite is happening to our memories. They’re getting stronger. Clearer. What does it mean?” I asked. “Why is it happening? And…”

Oh God…

“Why is Kurt changing? What is he turning into? And… me, and Merritt—what’s happening to us?”

She stared at me, wide-eyed. “I remember that,” she muttered.

I leaned forward. “Please, tell me!”

Andalon’s expression brightened like someone had flicked a switch. “I’m fightin’ the darkness, Mr. Genneth. I found a way so that it won’t get what it wants!”

“What does the fungus want, Andalon? And how are you fighting it? Please, try to be as specific as you can.

“Splecific?” Raising her finger to her chin, Andalon pondered my words. “The darkness wants to kill everyone, but… if I turn peoples into wyrmeh, then the darkness can’t get them!”

“W-What…?” I blinked in confusion. “Worm-may?”

Andalon nodded. “A wyrm. You’re becoming wyrmeh.” She smiled demurely. “I’m the one who’s making you change. You, and Mr. Turk, and Mrs. BokBok. That’s me. That’s Andalon.”

Had it not already ceased to beat, I’m certain Andalon’s words would have stopped it cold. I tried to talk, but I couldn’t find the words.

“Andalon can’t stop the darkness,” Andalon said. She leaned her head forward. “But, Andalon can give you some of Andalon’s power.”

My voice cracked. “I don’t understand. Please, Andalon… I don’t understand. Why would… what are you doing to—”

“—Your bodies,” she explained, “they’re all floopy and gots those silly sticks. And they break so fast… it’s so sad. The darkness gobbles you up, and…” she lowered her head in dejection, “once it starts, Andalon can’t stop it.” She looked me in the eyes. “So, Andalon says, ‘bad darkness, I won’t let you hurt the nice peoples!’, and Andalon makes people into wyrmeh because wyrmeh are strong, and big, and really cool, and they can hold Andalon’s powers, and they’re really, really good at helping people and protectin’ stuff. Ultra super-duper ultra good!”

I kept blinking.

“In, uh…” Andalon said, “in Catamander Brave—the Time Wyrms. The Time Wyrms helped Cat get home, right?”

What in the world did my favorite manga/anime have to do with Andalon and her actions? Listening to Andalon’s explanation was like getting trepanned in slow motion, but I went ahead and nodded anyway.

She smiled. “By makin’ you wyrmeh, I save you. I give you my powers, and you use them to save everybody else.” But then, her smile tapered down. Silently, her gaze wandered off into the distance. “You use them to save everybody else before everything’s… gone,” she whimpered.

Very slowly, I clenched and unclenched my fists. I did this several times over, desperately trying to keep myself from strangling someone—most likely, myself. “So, you’re the one who’s changing us? You’re behind these powers…?”

I said it for my sake, not hers.

This couldn’t be real…

Could it?

Wyrms?

It was crazy-talk, and I was a licensed neuropsychiatrist, so I would know crazy-talk when I heard it!

I spent a moment marinating in my crisis. For extra measure, I grabbed my arm and pinched it, hard.

Ow.

Then the Acknowledgement Tsunami hit me, and all my petty denial got swept away along with the rest of the flotsam and jetsam.

Oh God…

Andalon was right. She was telling me the truth. This was happening. It was really happening.

Merritt, Kurt, Letty, me, and probably a lot of other people, too… we were turning… into wyrms.

Wyrms.

If a panic attack wanted to strike me, it’d have to drag me away kicking and screaming.

Oh God oh God oh God.

The inside of my mouth became drier than the Hanba desert. Gulping only spread the icky stickiness. My next words came out hoarsely whispered.

“Andalon… what are you?”

She shook her head sadly. “I dunno. Andalon is Andalon. I wish I knew.”

So, Andalon was some kind of spirit-being trying to combat the fungus. A child god-wizard taking on a foe that made even her tremble.

And yet…

“Why didn’t you ask?” Anger quaked in my chest. “How could you do something like this without asking us first? It’s not right,” I added, shaking my head and muttering, “it’s not right.”

Puzzled once more, Andalon crossed her arms at her chest, and then let her arms and head droop down in defeat. “There wasn’t enough time.” She shook her head. “There never is…” She locked eyes with me. “The darkness was already here. It spreads so fast. You were already dead, Mr. Genneth. All of you were. But now,” she smiled, “now, you’re not dead anymore. You’re wyrmeh! Gotta make as many wyrmeh as I can! And bein’ wyrmeh’s better than bein’ gone, right?”

I didn’t care for her argument, but I’d be lying if I said it was a weak one. She had a point. A single look at any cable news channel’s projections for the spread of the Green Death over time was enough to confirm that. Heck, I had an awful, sinking feeling that things were going to get a lot worse before they had any chance of getting better.

Suddenly, an unwanted thought intruded in my mind: what was Andalon’s idea of a wyrm? What did it look like?

No. I don’t want to know.

It would just give me more to ruminate over. Besides, if I knew, I’d be hard-pressed not to tell Kurt, or Merritt, or anyone else, and… I couldn’t put that kind of a burden on them, or on their loved ones. And, of course, they’d no doubt ask me how I knew.

A cavalcade of consequences stormed through my head.

Hey, everybody? Did’ya hear? People are turning into wyrms!

The reaction would make the riots in Timesh seem like the county fair by comparison.

Raising my gaze from the ground, I looked into Andalon’s eyes. Those sky-blue eyes. And as I stared into their deep, limpid innocence, I knew my fate was sealed; sealed by a gob of spit. I was doomed from the moment Aiken Wognivitch spat in my face—I’d bet my medical license that was how I’d gotten infected. The timing was too perfect for it to be anything else.

If only these revelations had brought me peace.

“Get away from me,” I said, upper lip trembling softly. “Leave me alone…”

“Wha…?” Andalon exclaimed.

She didn’t understand.

I pushed myself off the bathroom’s cold tile floor and rose to my feet.

“I said… get away from me. Leave me alone.”

It was louder this time. I stood up to her, child though she was.

Andalon’s features tightened. Her eyes grew moist. Above, the fluorescent lights buzzed; beneath them, Andalon’s eyes glistened.

“Mr. Genneth…?”

“Get away from me!” This time, I roared. I lashed out with my arm, clawing at her face, only for my fingers to pass through empty space as Andalon dissolved into mist, fading back to depths from which she’d sprung, wherever they might be—but not before I saw heartbreak inscribed all over her face.

A second or too later, the rage surging within me vanished just like Andalon had.

“Leave me alone,” I muttered, ragged and defeated.

I slumped against the bathroom wall.

“Oh fudge…”

Fudge it all.