Fern Gully: New Threat
An Alternate Sequel by
Fern Gully © 20th Century Fox. Anyone has my permission to post this story anywhere they desire, put please leave this message (including my information) intact. Thanks!
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…swirled black, stained by their ambivalence.
Crysta crouched in the hollow of her tree, hands firm against the bark beneath her feet. Creases had formed around her eyes from the strain she experienced. What did it mean? All the messages came through fragmented, but with a strong undertone of danger. What swirled black? Whose ambivalence? Who were they? They kept appearing in her visions.
More information lay in the deepest heart of the forest, somewhere. The forest knew these things in a way she couldn't understand; she was only a messenger, the trees her source with their never-blinking eyes. Usually the forest yielded ambiguous messages, but even those crumbled when exposed to her critical reasoning. Why was it so difficult now?
There had to be a way—
A knock at the entrance ripped her from her concentration. She straightened. Who was it now? It seemed ever since these messages started coming, disasters popped up in multiples. Sighing and resigning herself to the distraction, she flitted over to the entrance and pulled back the filmy leaf covering.
Pips stood there, a wide smile on his face. "Do you have time for a break?"
Crysta fought to appear neutral, relaxing the muscles in her face. She'd already told Pips three times this week that she needed to concentrate. She didn't want to be harsh—he was her best friend, and she understood he cared about her mental health, and reasonably so. This task had all but consumed her—but this wouldn't get solved when everyone felt the need to bother her.
She had to be amiable. He at least deserved that for caring. "I am busy, but what were you thinking?" she asked, carefully measuring his expression.
As she expected, he didn't hear the first part. "They redesigned some of the leaf-slides on the waterfall. Thought you might want to come and take a look—maybe drop in a few times. It's great—I wasn't aware they were even working on bringing it back up. Been a while since the mudslide, right? But I'm not complaining. You should stop by."
Her gaze traveled past him, lingering on the foliage outside. Everything was so much brighter out there than it was in the darkness of her tree. A twinge of frustration built up inside her. Certainly no one expected her to slave over the messages of the trees, right? Even she was allowed some time to keep herself sane. Pips made it increasingly obvious that he wouldn't mind if she took some time off. A few minutes. Maybe twenty. It wouldn't hurt anyone.
It grew more appealing as she thought about it. Pips blinked, tossing his panflute from hand to hand. "Well? Do you think you can stop by?"
"I could use a break. I was starting to forget what it was like to see the daylight," she added, cracking a smile. It was the first genuine smile she'd displayed in a while, with all her efforts and concern revolving around some danger she didn't even understand.
Pips noticed this, and his face lit up. "Okay," he said, his voice awkward, like he had expected her to decline and retreat back into her hole.
Crysta weighted this—if he had expected her to say no, why would he bother asking? What if he didn't actually want her to be there, but rather asked to be polite? She'd turned down everything he had offered the last…oh, how many times had it been now? She didn't remember. Confronting this made her realize just how much she had been neglecting him, and the others.
Pips' panflute settled in his right hand, and he buzzed backwards, waving her to follow. In a flash of green light, he flitted into the trees, avoiding leaves with the skill of a master. "Don't tell me you've forgotten how to fly! You haven't grown any roots, have you? Come on!"
"I haven't!" Warm blue light surrounded her.
"Then come on!"
Crysta followed him, her flight unattractively awkward from being cramped in her tree for weeks without reasonable exercise. But, she still managed to avoid crashing into any trees, so she was a step ahead of Batty. Speaking of Batty… she hadn't seen him in a while. He always knew how to brighten up her day with his erratic behavior.
Batty seemed to understand her need for solace more than Pips did. But maybe that wasn't such a good thing. She'd have to ask him to drop by every so often. A comical air could cure the worst of moods.
As they flew through the forest, it all felt so new to Crysta—had she kept herself cooped up that long that she had forgotten what most of the forest looked like, felt like? What was the point of being the trees' messenger when she couldn't connect to them on a visual level? She made a mental note to visit the rest of the forest—her friends included—more often. Even these brief few moments cleared her mind; it was refreshing.
As the approached the waterfall, sounds of pleasantry grew louder and louder. Fairies yelped and squealed, following the reed-lined slides along the waterfall. Crysta paused before the water, her smile growing larger. Why had she shut herself in that tree again? Now it all seemed so silly. Maybe she needed to work on putting things in context.
A few small crowds lurked around the waterslides. She watched one for a few moments; a female fairy had fashioned a boat out of the reeds and was taking others on a ride through the rapids. Pips had already vanished from her side, and she spotted him sliding down one of the reeds, others cheering him on as he tried to surf down the remaining half of the slide. The second group was smaller, but she recognized her father among them, so she went there. She wasn't really in the mood to slide, but a little conversation never hurt.
The moment she landed, she realized the mood was wildly different from the slides.
"Get Crysta," one of the faeries said, his voice anxious.
Her father began to turn. "I'll go get her." When he saw her standing behind him, his eyes widened, momentarily clearing the stress lines along his face. "Crysta! Crysta, I'm glad you're here… do you know what might have caused this? Can you help?"
Crysta's emotions numbed when she heard those words. She scooted forward, others moving out of the way, chirping her name as if the banter would help her build up power. A young fairy girl lay panting on the ground, her face red from effort. She couldn't have been more than ten years old. Controlling the panic growing inside her, Crysta knelt down next to the child and placed a hand over her forehead.
The answer was immediate, and violent.
Swirled black, stained by their ambivalence. Stained by their ambivalence. Swirled black. Black. Black. Black.
Hello, Crysta. It's been a while since we last met.
A surge of emotions rushed through her, so quickly she didn't know whether she was pleased, terrified, or depressed. Her body felt covered in mud, but it was a different consistency than mud—thicker, stronger, rooting her to the ground when she tried to move. Black, it was black. It covered her, seeped into her eyes, burning them, sliding down her throat…
"Crysta!" Pips' voice broke her madness, and she found herself still next to the child. He knelt beside her, shaking her such that her head started to feel light.
"I'm okay!" she said, pushing his hands back with unnecessary anger. She took long, struggling breaths, but her throat was clear, and her eyes still able to see. The child's eyes had closed, and her breath came in soft whimpers. Pips got to his feet and backed away, watching with uncertainty in his eyes.
But realization had come. Crysta leapt up, her mind racing in different directions. "Don't drink the water! Get out of it!" she exclaimed.
Others began to shout her warning, and the festivity stopped. The screams of happiness died down into a murmur of shock and confusion. They crowded around—she felt so claustrophobic, why wouldn't they give her space? They had to give her space! She was choking again—chattering amongst themselves. What happened? What was wrong with the young girl? What was wrong with Crysta?
Her father lay a hand on her shoulder. "Crysta," he said, his voice even but urgent, "Tell me what's wrong."
"The water's poisoned," Crysta said, shaking her head. "I have to get herbs for the little girl. Give her room—it won't take me longer than a few minutes."
She immediately launched into the forest, her mind spinning. Once she nearly collided with a tree, only managing to veer around it by a fraction of an inch. She knew what she had to get for this—something to make the girl throw up what she'd drank by accident. Because who would expect the water would have been poisoned? A cold realization spread over her. What if the others got sick, too? What if she didn't have enough of the herb to help them all? What if she really did recognize that voice?
How could it be Hexxus?