The air in the Huldu village is clear, and for the first time since Cellu, Twynne, and Hendi returned from spying, Gargana has time to assess Hendi and Twynne’s injuries. She had seen to their comfort as much as she could when they first got back, but most of her energy was spent trying to assess what her intuitions were telling her about the new spell they awaited. There was a very real possibility that Pixie would not gain any helpful information, so Gargana mostly sat, quietly, trying to read the impending danger of the pregnant air, struggling for an intuition of what to do. She had felt a distant reassurance that all would be well, in the end, but the feeling was not strong enough to alleviate her concerns such that she could focus on Hendi’s and Twynne’s injuries.
Now that the spell has dissipated, Gargana feels a lightness in her intuitions that she has never felt before. Since as far back as she can remember, she has felt a heaviness that she could not clearly make out, and she has always perceived the heaviness to be a great illness encompassing Storia, but with no discernible cure except for the prophecy. It had caused a lifelong anxiety that hovered about in her spirit, always foreboding and never possible to address. This was why her experience with the villagers, when she was a child, had affected her so deeply. She was already burdened by the heaviness of her world’s growing illness; she could not handle much else. She needed her parents for the other things, but they were not helpful.
She feels a little foolish, now, realizing that all she needed to do was trust that the prophecy would bring with it everything needed to heal the illness. The anxiety was unnecessary because she was not responsible for the healing that Storia needed. But the heaviness is now replaced with peace, and her healing intuitions dance about unfettered, as they never have before. And she gets right to work on Hendi and Twynne. Twynne’s nose is broken, and Hendi has a broken arm and a mild concussion, so Gargana sets Hendi’s arm in a brace and sends some Huldu to look for various herbs that will promote his recovery, and she stirs up a concoction for pain and swelling.
Pixie has decided to sneak into the enemy camp one last time, now that the grey cloud is entirely gone, and she lets the others know of her plan. Though Gargana feels no more foreboding, and though there is a finality to the relief that all the Huldul and Edna’s companions feel, none of them will really know that this is all over until someone makes sure that it is, so they all agree that it would be wise for Pixie to check.
The camp is desolate. All the belongings of the enemy creatures are there, but Pixie finds no life. She passes some lifeless bodies, but not as many as she would expect, so she assumes the rest must have fled. Then she hears some rustling near the bushes, and moves in, cautiously, invisibly, to take a closer look.
Pixie finds a djinn huddled beneath some foliage, and he is rocking back and forth. It’s Erl. When she gets closer to him, she hears him mumbling to himself, “save me, save me.” Pixie does not make her presence known just yet. She glides quietly through the camp, looking for traces of departure and listening for hidden voices. She hears only Erl, and she sees no escaping footprints. When she comes back around to Erl, she makes herself visible. He seems too vulnerable to be a danger to her, but as soon as he sees her, he cries out the words he has been mumbling, and then lunges at her. To her own shock, she does not move out of his way.
Edna laughs at the many creatures who surround her, eagerly anticipating an explanation for her survival, and to know what happened to her when she was surrounded by the smoke. But Edna wants to know that everyone is safe and accounted for, first; her nerves will not be settled until Pixie is back, and until there is finally news that the malicious shenanigans are over.
After waiting on Pixie for much longer than what seems reasonable, concern creeps back into the hearts of those in the village. Pixie going in, alone, seemed reasonable at first. They felt so confident that it was all over, and only Pixie is certain to go unnoticed. But maybe they were all too certain, and maybe Pixie was not as careful as she usually is. And maybe they were unsuccessful in actually sending any of the potion back. What if Pixie has been captured, they all begin to anxiously wonder.
Many of the Huldu, along with Twynne, Cellu, and Gargan decide to wait no longer, and to do no more spying. If there is still a war, they will fight, and come what may. There is no energy left for plans, or for patience. They gather the bows and the remaining arrows, along with cooking knives and anything that can be used to fight with, and begin to march towards the trees; but they need not march far, for they see Pixie in the distance, walking towards them.
But it is not just Pixie who walks towards them. Behind her trails a menagerie of disheveled creatures, timid and awkward, with faces towards the ground and shoulders slumped. There is no eye contact as these creatures get closer; they all seem to be preoccupied with the state of their toes.
Just after Erl had lunged at Pixie, his arms were wrapped around her, and he was trembling. He could not put any words together other than what seemed like he had been mumbling for a while, “save me.” Pixie’s overwhelming empathy in that moment told her that the only thing to be concerned about, in that camp now, was who else out there had survived the spell, and were mumbling the same words as Erl. She held Erl’s hand and gently led him through the camp, like she might the youngest children who come to Storia.
After finding Erl, she soon realized that what she had thought were the deceased remains of those who had not been able to escape, were actually those who, like Erl, had survived. Later she will learn that those who had perished were consumed so entirely that nothing was left of them. She began gently and tenderly helping each survivor she found to their feet, and soon she was accompanied by a crowd. This made her search more difficult, however, as her inspection was continuously obstructed by the timid bodies that huddled close to her as she tried to walk. So she decided to lead them to the Huldu village and then recruit some help.
When Pixie arrives in the Huldu village, and is met with her would be rescuers, she puts one hand in the air and twirls her finger, drawing a horizontal circle in the sky, as if the silent gesture explains everything—as if those it is directed to should understand that she means to tell them she has found some survivors who need comfort right now, and that she is rounding up anyone who will help her look for more survivors who are also in need of comfort. Her gesture is not understood, but it does put her friends at ease.
The former enemies sit on cushions and wait as Gargana, with many helping hands, orchestrates the preparation of the most comforting and invigorating tea ever made in Storia. The inquisitive anticipation in the camp to learn how so many had survived the spell grows, but patience and anticipation are not mutually exclusive, and so they willingly continue to wait.
When Pixie and her search crew return with the rest of the survivors, of which there aren’t many, seating is arranged outdoors, along with cups and saucers, and steaming tea for each person, Storian and human. And all drink their comforting tea as they learn or tell about what happened.
A troll named Trina, one of the survivors, is the first to explain what happened during those terrifying moments that she was encompassed by the thick grey smoke.
“When that potion came upon me,” she said, “it was terrifying. I knew I was about to be ripped to shreds and eaten alive. But that wasn’t the most terrifying part—not the suffering I was about to endure, or even my death. What was most terrifying is that I knew I deserved what was coming to me, so I could do nothing to make my death more tolerable; I couldn’t put any hope in justice, couldn’t fight against what was threatening me with any illusion of righteous indignation, couldn’t cry out with demands to any moral judge. I realized that what was happening to me was justice.” Tears were pouring down Trina’s cheeks, but she didn’t seem to notice or care. “I tell you,” she continues, “there’s nothing more terrifying than that kind of hopelessness; when evil is upon you, about to completely destroy you, and you have no reason to expect help, and only yourself to blame.
“But then suddenly someone else was there with me, and they stood between me and that horrid cloud. It couldn’t touch me with that powerful being there. Then that being offered me their hand, to save me.
“But then the voice was there, the voice that had been in my head for so long. It told me to spit on the hand that was outstretched before me. And it told me to spit in the powerful beings’ face. It told me that I didn’t need saving, that I could save myself. It told me that it is by rebelling against this authority that I would gain the power I’ve been seeking; power over the spell, power over Storia, power, even, to never have to face justice. It told me that, in fact, I would decide what justice was, and that I would become my own god. And that I would never again need to fear God or ask for God’s help.
“My head was so full of those other voices. And they tempted me, as irrational as they were, for that voice had been a part of me for so long. But I could hear my own voice, as well, though it was very faint and far away. My voice was begging for help, and my voice was not ashamed to beg. I tried so hard to listen to my voice, but the other voice was drowning it out.
“So, I prayed, without any voice at all, that the person who was willing to save me would help me to ask for the help that I needed to accept, so that I could accept it. And then my distant voice got louder, and louder, and closer and closer, until it drowned out the others; and suddenly I was crying out for help. I was asking to be saved. And the next thing I remember is you all, helping me to my feet.”
Trina’s story is like the others. They surmise that those who did not survive must have listened to the other voice; they must have wanted to be their own god. It is amazing how irrational one can be when one’s desire for what one wants to be true is stronger than one’s desire for the truth itself. It is as if such a one truly believes that if they wish hard enough, they can actually turn lies into truth. But this is impossible, even for God. God could never, nor would God ever want to, go against what is the very nature of God: the ultimate Good can never become bad, the ultimate Truth can never become false, and God’s infinite beauty cannot be made ugly.
Edna is looking at Erl and smiling. If she had known, back in the enemies’ camp, that some of those creatures would be saved by relinquishing the illusory power they had put their hope in for so long, she would never have guessed that Erl would be one of them. She is glad she would have been wrong.
After the visitors discuss their experiences, and surmise what must have happened to those who did not survive, Edna tells them all about her own experience. It seems that the very same person who saved them, saved Edna as well. But Edna did not have to ask for the ability to ask for help. She has been desperate for God’s help for quite some time. She just never knew that that is what she was desperate for—or maybe she did not know she could receive such help—until now.
Renee Rushing 
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