The Castle in the Garden

Chuurk. Fss. Whoo. Plop.

Chuurk. Fss. Whoo. Plop. Just pressing the walls of the keep.

Chuurk. Fss. Whoo. Plop.

"Hey! What are you doing, Misham?" a voice called from far off just as a clod landed behind Misham, somewhere in the reeds. The sun was bright. Not a cloud in the sky. Warm and gentle on her skin.

Chuurk. Fss. Whoo. Plop.

Chuurk. Fss. Whoo. Plop. Nearly done.

Chuurk. Fss. Whoo. Plop.

"What are you DOING??” Closer. Possibly inside the Garden. If it was relevant, Misham would find out soon enough. She was almost done though, so it probably wouldn’t matter.

Chuurk. Fss. Whoo. Plop.

Chuurk. Fss. Whoo. Plop. Excellent, now it would just be a few minutes, and the world would be reborn.

Chuur–

The trowel ripped violently out of Misham's hands. She had been on her feet, crouched down. The force spun her around, and she nearly lost her footing and fell directly into her creation in the mud. With a breath of will, she regained balance. Losing it now would be catastrophic.

She looked up, and into Balima’s eyes and saw wells of confusion and anger.

Misham glanced down once more. The Castle remained sound. She could hear the breeze blowing in the bushes of the Garden and echoing distantly against the Boundary Rocks that hemmed in this sacred plot. Yes, it looked stable… Perhaps that last wall of the keep needed firming—

—CRACK.

She felt a sharp, disorienting pain erupting on her cheek. Balima had slapped her. Hard. Misham felt more off-balance than when she lost the trowel a moment ago. It twisted her around, and she had to throw her hands down for support, landing in a stance just wide enough to straddle her creation. The Castle’s spires and turrets, still soft, not yet stone, poked up toward Misham’s abdomen. She involuntarily sucked in her stomach tight.

When she stood back up, it was Balima who was sobbing. She buried her eyes in the rough wood of the trowel handle. “Why? Why, Misham? Why me?” She was weeping in earnest now, barely able to get out the words.

Misham just looked levelly back at her. She felt heat and then a warmth inching out of her right nostril. She touched her finger to the throbbing skin, and it came away red.

“I treated you well!” she said, between sobs. “I spoke to you when others ignored you! I spent time with you! I even—” her she started crying again and needed to gather herself, “—told you the location of our Plot. I never, ever should have. What can we do now, Misham, now that someone has been in it? It is ruined, forever.”

Misham cocked her head, looking back at Balima. “I’m sorry, Balima. Your Plot is the one that was preordained. It needed to be here. It didn’t have anything to do with you.”

Balima pressed her hands into her face. It was like fingers in clay, Misham considered. The sky had started to get a bit darker. Perhaps it would rain. That was a good sign.

“Balima,” said Misham, as gently as she could. “None of this matters. It was good of you to be my friend. That was nice then. But it does not mean I will not engage in my holy work.“ The plot was just a plot. Every family had one. And yes, it was meant to be inviolate. But it was really just a patch of ground.

Balima and her family didn’t realise that the quality of clay in theirs was unique. But Misham knew. What Balima did with the plot was just manage their normal, quotidian life. But the mud-slicked, gleaming structure beside the hole was something else. It was the beginning.

Balima really began to cry at this point. She threw her head back and cried in vast shuddering gulps up to the greying sky. Misham wasn’t even sure Balima had noticed the Castle underfoot. She glanced down again.

The soft mud and clay had transformed in the past minute. The browns and blacks of mud, soil, and clay, had transformed into hues of green and purple, and it had grown. The Castle was dressing itself. It was reaching climax undeterred. Misham could have jumped for joy. Even hugged Balima. She looked up to confirm. The clouds were gathering tightly.

Misham waited patiently for a few minutes until Balima’s crying slowed and her breaths regained a rhythm. Didn’t bother her. There was naught to do now but wait. The shapes in the sky had begun to form and sharpen. Not unlike what was happening on the ground.

When Balima seemed under control, Misham thought to calm her. “Thanks for coming to watch the beginning, Balima,” said Misham. “I was excited when I learned that the Castle was to be founded in your plot, and I thought you would be too. It is a great privilege.”

“The… what?” Balima suddenly grew very still. She looked down. Glanced at the mud she was standing in. Her eyes darted up, looking behind Misham. They rested on Misham’s work. Realisation dawned on her for a moment. And then it was as if a carpet of scorpions reared themselves behind Misham, Balima leapt backwards. Misham couldn’t help letting a giggle spill out, just seeing the parade of emotions dash across Balima’s face. Run? Don’t run? Fight? Scream? Laugh?

Grave as a gaoler, Balima kept backing away. “What have you done, Misham? Why are you speaking of the… the… Cast… that? And what do you mean, founded in my plot? What are you doing over there?”

“It’s true, Balima!” Misham kept laughing. She stepped forward. a bit closer. She touched her face again. The blood was still flowing, but, as some of her soul had been siphoned, the blood on her fingers looked mixed with grey and black. “I know this comes with the sacrifice of your family’s plot, but don’t worry! This is temporary! You know what will happen. It won’t matter in the long run as the new Castle grows. But what an honour! To imagine a new world sprouting from one’s own plot!”

“How…? Oh gods, Misham. Why have you done this? Why did you build this? How did you even learn how?”

“Oh, it’s not really that hard to find out. Most people just shy away from the knowledge.” Misham approached closer, and Balima stepped back again. “It’s too late now anyway.” She looked back, and the Castle now loomed, at least as tall as Misham herself. “I had just needed to give it a few more minutes to set.”

Balima looked around then, changing her stance. Perhaps about to flee. She finally seemed to notice the change in weather. The light had begun to fail entirely. Misham stopped laughing for a moment. “Where are you trying to go, Balima?” Balima looked left and right. The stalks of grass grew soft and tall. There was no sound of wind, animals, plants, or anything else anymore.

”So there are a few minutes? We can cancel it, Let’s stop it!”

Misham laughed. “Don’t worry, Balima. I just needed a few minutes… a few minutes ago.”

“What??”

“Yes.”

“…”

“You know what’s coming, don’t you, Balima?”

“Yes,” Balima whispered.

“I thought so,” said Misham. She took another step forward. “So where are you going, then?”

“Oh gods. Oh gods. oh godsohgodsohgodsohgods.” Balima was hyperventilating.

The shapes in the sky began to stack on each other, each one locking into place with a thunderclap. One clouded block after another, zipping together and forming a straightjacket over the sky.

“Then you must know,” said Misham. “There’s nowhere to go.”

Something behind Misham shot up toward the sky, bathing everything in shadow.

Misham smiled.

And it began.