Welcome to Manifesto, my fantasy/sci-fi/dystopian novel. If you’re new here, you can go to the beginning here.
Quick recap: Shawn came home only to be confronted by the demons of his father’s past and present. To make a getaway he and Will are on their way to see their Granny.
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Somewhat further up the hill that Shawn’s house rested on, their Grandma lived in a thatched, old English cottage. The stone walls, white and chiseled, transitioned smoothly into an orange chimney. It had small square windows, and all along the exterior grew a plant with drooping purple flower spires, accompanied by the buzzing of pollinators, hundreds. The garden was fenced by a lush, thick green bush, the only gap a small wooden gate, partially open.
It was a new day. Shawn and Will were on their way to visit Granny. They approached, expecting to find her in the garden when a fluffy, well-fed orange cat walked toward them, its head raised high, its steps elegant, placing each paw as if on a catwalk. “Mr. Snickers!” Will hollered. Mr. Snickers meowed in a displeased note as if trying to say, “It’s your majesty.” In response to hearing Will’s voice, Grandma asked, “Is that you, Willie?” Her voice somewhat raspy and feeble. One could hear she wasn’t in the best health. A small, hunched figure appeared from behind the bushes, hobbling her way to the gate.
The cat, displeased as Will ceased his attentive petting, meowed, but this time in a lower, insulting tone as if trying to say, peasant. “Cut the attitude, Snickers,” said Granny from behind the gate. Her white hair —or the remains of it— was propped up in a bun, thinned so much, it made Shawn uncomfortable to look at it. She didn’t want to hide it, neither to make herself, nor to make others comfortable, stashing things under the rug just wasn’t her style.
She wore a black shirt with a green gardener’s apron, glasses hanging around her neck, which she then put on to see the boys, “Now, aren’t you two handsome young men,” she said with affection in her voice. They both came in for a hug and received a kiss on their cheeks.
“Come on in, my boys, I’ll fetch you some cookies, but first, do you want to see what I’ve been fiddling with?”
The question did not require an answer.
They followed on a paved stone path across the garden, which wasn’t too big, walled off opposite the gate by the steep onset of a hill, under which the cottage dwelled, feeling snug and safe. However, what they saw in the back of the small garden stunned them.
Flowers with blossoms the size of their heads, perching on stems that looked more like garden hoses. Under each plant grew a bunch of mushrooms, of which the species varied according to the plants they grew under. Most of them Shawn recognized. Garden giant, pink oyster, yellow oyster… and what is that… oh wow, how did she get a parasol mushroom?
Although impressive and beautiful, that wasn’t what caught their attention.
In the middle of it stood a wooden statue of a man. However, it wasn’t just a mere man, for he had mushrooms—also wooden—growing out of his body, resembling a shrine, with arranged stones surrounding it in a circle, looking at it, Shawn saw the irrefutable resemblance with Pat’s pipe. No way…, he thought in disbelief.
“What is… that?” Will asked, pointing at the statue.
“Fungal w—”
“Warriors,” Shawn finished her sentence.
“Well, look at ya,” she looked questioningly.
“What are fungal warriors?” Will inquired impatiently.
“My mycology professor has the same motive carved onto his pipe,” he replied, then asked, “But… why?”
“Come inside… love number one,” she tapped Will on the shoulder, “and love number two,” she tapped Shawn’s shoulder.
“Why am I love two?” asked Shawn, clearly confused, “I am the older one.”
“I knew you’d ask, and I will not tell you,” Granny stuck her tongue out and chuckled.
“That’s because she loves me more,” Will said.
“Right, right, everyone loves little Will,” Shawn smirked.
“I’m not little!”
“Gotcha.”
They were familiar with the interior, however, they still couldn’t help but stop in their tracks and lock their gazes while passing various statues, paintings, photographs and plants. Like any other mushroom freak, she had a collection of pictures holding either rare or gigantic fungal specimens.
Will stood there, looking at the decorated shelves, entranced by the psychedelic motives. Masks embellished with geometrical patterns, feathers, and eyes in a variety of colors and abstract paintings of pillars and spirals. In the middle was a picture of Granny with her friends, whose attire gave away the decade this must have been in.
“I like this one,” Will said and grabbed a tiny wooden statue of a gilled mushroom, slender in the stem with a concave-shaped cap.
“I bet you do,” Granny said, putting it back.
Good choice, brother.
“Hey, I wanted to —“
“Hush, hush, now,” she interrupted him and hurried him to sit on the sofa. Shawn’s and Granny’s eyes met, sniggering.
After a moment, Shawn called in the direction of the kitchen, “Do you need help?” where Granny brewed some herbal tea.
“No, you just stay wh—“, she coughed once, a second time, followed by the sound of shattering porcelain.
“Gran!” they jumped, running after her, almost wrecking the place in their hurry. They found her leaning against the sink, covering her mouth.
“Got a bit dizzy there,” she smiled then added, “screw you cancer, it’s not my time yet. Got plenty fight left in this old body. You bet.”
Pretty much out of nowhere, Will sang, “Just shake it off, ah-ah,” dancing, moving his hips from side to side, some sort of premature twerk.
“Wrong timing Will,” Shawn corrected him.
“Don’t be like that…” she said, “once you can’t laugh, you’ve lost… so let’s keep laughing, shall we?” She looked at Will and smiled.
“Could you help me pick up the pieces?” She asked, meanwhile washing off the blood from her hand.
They brewed some new tea together and sat down in the living room, after litting an inscent candle they bathed in woods and roses, at least according to the whispers of their noses. The crackling fire brightened the otherwise dim room and soothed them.
“Can be quite cold in stone houses as such,” she said.
“How have you been feeling?” Shawn asked.
“Quite awful, but the garden helps occupy,” she looked at him, and Shawn needed to hear no more. Will sat next to Granny, petting Mr. Snickers, who purred, stretching and yawning on her lap.
“I saw you paired certain plants with certain mushrooms… I suppose you cracked the code?” Shawn changed topics, “Is that why the plants are so big?”
“I did, a smart one aren’t you?” she replied.
At least when it comes to mushrooms.
“It’s rather difficult… too many variables.”
“Observation and patience,” she said, then continued, “You can make some solid predictions if you learn to listen.”
“Listen?” Shawn asked, waking Will’s interest, for he now listened intently.
“Listen to what the mushrooms are telling you,” she answered and coughed.
Not the hocus-pocus again, he sighed.
“What do you mean?” Shawn asked, irritated.
“Not all language is spoken, nor can it be heard by ears alone.” She replied
“So, could you teach me how to…listen?” he asked, somewhat mockingly.
Unfazed by Shawn’s academic demeanor she answered, “I know you scientists like things rigid and predictable, feasible and conventional, but that “reason” of yours is nothing else than nearsightedness and prejudice.”
Right, that prejudice is the reason you have a fridge in the kitchen.
“If you spend more time around mushrooms, you’ll understand,” she replied.
He was annoyed by the answer, which was something along the lines of “You’ll understand when you’re older,” however, there was something more important on his mind.
“Alright, alright,” he said, “but could you tell me about the mushroom warrior thing… please?” She looked at him, sizing him up whether he was ready, after a moment nodding to herself, but as if she had forgotten she looked at little Will next to her. After another moment of contemplation, she said, “Okay, I’ll tell you.”