They swarmed around me, forming and reforming into concentric circles and equilateral triangles. Pentagrams would appear, disappear, and reform meters away. I never understood this about the Ants. They were obsessed with these patterns, but it was always centered around something they were interested in. Today, that thing was me.
This was my third trip to the Scrapheap. The first trip had been barely a few seconds, and at the time I’d been terrified of the living darkness that the Ants appeared as. The second trip was more intentional, and had helped me to conquer some of my fears. The Ants were just another type of guardian, and because of that they weren’t a threat to me. Quite to the contrary, they actively seemed interested in me, making them the first real entity to notice my presence. Back in the Rootways I’d viewed this interest as ominous, but now I found it somewhat comforting. It meant I was worth being interested in. To them, I had a value. To them, I might belong here.
I took stock of my surroundings. And took stock of my surroundings. And took stock of my surroundings. And CONTINUED to take stock of my surroundings. The Scrapheap was probably the most interesting place in the entire Dark Forest, because - as its name implied - it was a collection of everything that was lost by those who entered it. If something goes missing here, this is where it ends up. And right now, with no home and or items on hand, it was the perfect place to be. As I stared at the disordered mess that the Ants had collected, I began to lose myself trying to make sense of it all.
Handbags, lamps, an entire car, what looked like a crushed washing machine, a broom that was missing its bristles, a pile of comics that had begun to slide off each other, what appeared to be an entire library stacked haphazardly, various pieces of art...The Ants really had it all. I began to meander around the area, looking for something I could use. What I needed was pretty simple: a way to prevent the entity from taking my body again. Part of that problem had been solved, but I’d have to find it again: the glowing stones in the river. The other part I could find here, which was something to hold them in without getting burned, at least until I wanted to be burned.
Maybe burned was the wrong word?
Frozen? Frostbitten?
Frostbitten.
As eloquent as always.
“Shut up. Sonphez.”
Sonphez?
“Zephnos spelled backwards.”
That’s idiotic.
“You’re idiotic.”
And you’re talking to yourself.
I gave a small “hrumph” and picked through the materials, selecting a medium-sized satchel that had somehow been mixed in with a pile of high-heeled shoes. That wouldn’t be enough on its own though… I’d also need something to pick the stones up with, and a way to reach them after I’d lost control. I continued searching until I eventually found what I was looking for: A pair of dinner tongs.
“This should do.”
You’re sure they won’t miss them?
“I don’t think they’ll mind.” I turned towards the way I came, looking at the Ants for the first time since I’d arrived. It seems they had lost interest in me, and were now beginning to move parts of the scrapheap around. The longer I watched them, the more I began to see a method to their movements. Currents of insect bodies would appear, then get lost again in the roiling ocean. It would pick up smaller objects and move them about. A set of antique glassware began moving on the current, tilting on the swarm.
Don’t you need those?
I blinked in shock. “Are you actually trying to help?”
Why would you think that?
I shook my head. The voice was right, I did need those. I began to walk after the glass currently floating on the insectoid current. As I was walking, my entourage piled up behind me. They moved so quickly I didn’t have to attempt to avoid them.
“You really are fond of me aren’t you?”
The pile formed into a lump, and then opened a pair of eyelids. I stumbled back, startled by the sudden response.
“Can you hear me? Can you understand my words?”
The eyeball disintegrated into a much smaller horned head. My own head. And nodded.
“Can you give me those?” I pointed at the collection of jars and pitchers. “I need them to get to the Campgrounds.”
The group shook its head before I even told them why.
“Not as useful as I was hoping then… Can you take me to more of them?” At this, the head broke into its parts and curried off. They joined the river and beckoned for me to follow. I hesitantly followed them.
We were walking for only a few moments when I realized that the Ants were no longer locking the Forest. Something about their intent had changed, and every time I blinked we were in a different location in the Scrapheap. They also knew how to move quickly, and somehow they were doing it with a purpose.
“Is that a sculpture of the Salamander?” It was rearing back, front limbs in the air in a ferocious posture, and appeared to be made from dismantled scrap. Around it were Christmas tree lights that had been arranged to look like the plumes of a fire. Many giant cement pylons were placed underneath the 5 meter sculpture, looking very similar to half consumed firelogs.
Wait… those lights were lit. That meant the Ants had somehow found a way to power them! “How are you powering this?” I followed the cables to a lightly coughing generator. It was nearly hidden underneath an extra-thicc pile of ants. Next to it was a small mountain of gasoline canisters.
I turned back to the Salamander’s metal look-alike. “You made all of this?” The stream of Ants had stopped at the foot of the sculpture, and had resumed their usual geometric shapes. A hexagram of ever-increasing complexity formed around it, quickly evolving into a lacy ingrain as dirt was cleared away and the Ants thickened the design.
It’s not just a sculpture. It’s a shrine.
“Why worship it?”
It created you. Maybe it created them?
“Do you think they do it willingly?
You can always ask.
I knelt down to the Ant’s level, and the head once again formed from the tide. “Can you get to the Salamander?”
The head shook mournfully.
“Why not?”
The swarm collapsed into a puddle, then began to tower up in multiple small structures that each inevitably collapsed again. They did this for several seconds before I realized what they were trying to say.
“The fire? You can’t go inside the firelight?”
Nod.
“Why do you worship it?”
The puddle of Ants didn’t move. Either they would not or could not tell me. An idea occurred at this point. “If I left something for you, would you let me keep the things I need? As an offering to that?” I pointed at the ramshackle amphibian.
At first my chaperones stayed still, but then formed into an unmistakable question mark.
“In the Dark Forest there’s a destroyed botanist’s hut underneath one of the great trees. In that hut is a book of… oh. You have it already.” The Ants paraded out the botanist’s grimoire before I finished. “Will you accept that as payment?”
The Dark Forest Ants looked up at me from the ground and nodded. A black chitinous hand reached out from the swarm near my feet. I reached down and shook it, feeling somewhat silly. Soon after, the Ants began to withdraw from the area. In front of me was a small pile of crystal jars and the botanist’s book. I looked around with uncertainty. Did this mean they wouldn’t take it?
Realization dawned on me. I’d put the book on the table as an offering. I had to do the offering. Turning towards the towering figure of my parent, I noticed a small altar made of broken down bird baths at its base. I picked up the book and gently laid it on the altar. Still feeling like I was out of my depth, I recited a small prayer.
“May this book find you well,
And help to break the eternal spell,
A trade for a vessel to hold my key,
So that I may finally be free.
I offer this, once my only possession,
And leave it within the ant’s protection.”
“Hopefully that’s enough.” I picked up the bottles and jars and gently pushed them into my bag. Cracking wouldn’t be a problem, but there would be a time for them to break. With all of the items accounted for, I turned my back towards the empty junkyard, and shut my eyes.
