Mycelium

Chapter 6

  A pomegrenate. A pomegrenate. Why?
Calla scratched her head as Turkey-tail and the other mushroom frogmarched her back to the clearing.
"But...how did you see that? Why? What?" were the gibberish questions she asked on the way.
 "Ah," mumbled the other mushroom. They sounded confused, kind of.
She was also very, very drowsy. It was one in the morning. The forest floor was mulchy, so her bare feet squelched disgustingly against the ground.
They arrived at the clearing.
"Salutations," said the toad (frog?) fancily. "Let us begin."
Her two moosh supervisors began to follow the other fungi, to a wide and shallow pond.
"Where are you going?" Calla blurted.
"To participate in the pomp."
"You?" She was suddenly concerned, for some reason. "Shit..."
"It is our fate," they said.
  Turkey-tail sputtered, "With duty and desire we follow them!" They seemed...desperate.
As they walked away, she murmured, "I won't let you die. No fucking way." Her heartbeat was thrumming and drilling into her head.
  Creepy.
                  ◉◉◉◉◉◉◉◉
"Attention, I beg you!" the toad screamed. Though it didn't seem to be begging, just commandingly telling them to shush.
"It is time...for the pomp. Go, cherishéd ones, and fetch one each water lily."
Calla frowned.
The mushrooms scrambled, jumping in the water and getting large, light pink flowers from the pond for a few minutes. They looked at them like the flowers were the most important thing in their lives, then returned, so triumphant.
"We are ready, great Toads!" the mooshes announced, perfectly in sync, like they practised.
    "And, at once," said one of the toads, who seemed to be the leader, "Place them upon your cap."
Calla noticed Turkey-tail among the crowd; they were obliging, like the other fungi. She furrowed her brows. Holy shit. Is this some kind of ritual? The toads are talking? What?
"Now, I instruct you: puffballs, obediently acquire the walnut oils once again."
She watched as a bunch of little white mushrooms struggled with barrels that were even bigger than Calla. Shell-shocked, she rubbed her eyes and blinked.
   The toad said, "Open the barrel."
They climbed up somehow on top. It took a good few moments. All you could hear was the mushrooms' panting.
Finally, they arrived on top. With difficulty and forced smiles, they opened the barrel's top. It instantly released a nutty smell that Calla breathed in, distracted from the ritual. The toads looked smug and pleased.

"Ready your lilies," they ordered.
"Why?"
There was a silence.
"Who uttered that?"
Calla clamped her hand over her ignorant, idiot mouth. She didn't know why it was wrong to speak, but it was disrespectful, said the pointed silence. "Er, me. Just wanted to know why?" Her voice sounded weak and not the usual activist strong-y.
Calla. God.
The toad suddenly brightened, or as bright as a toad can be. "Ah! You would like to know why! Indeed."
"Yeah?"
"I see! Aha. It is tradition, my child. It is for them to float in the oil."
She knitted her eyebrows together. Her nails met her mouth, and asked, "And, uh, why do they have to go in?"
"To prove that they are brave. Furthermore," the toad said quickly, visibly tired of Calla asking questions (fuck it then, toad). "Our other guest shall join you now."
   Calla stopped fidgeting.
"What?"
The amphibian looked like it badly wanted to correct her manners with a 'It is actually pardon', then said, "Tansy. Our other human we have brought here. We did not speak to you about this, dear," it said, "because our souls thought it would be best to keep you kin-kind away. Conflict, you see."
"Kin-kind?"
"The same species you are," piped a little moosh with the pink flower on their head.
"Okay," Calla sighed, then beamed. She was desperate to actually see a human, even after one night, whether it was some creep or not.