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The Demon’s Cantos Part 28

Tilda woke up on the porch to the glare of the morning sun shining brightly in her eyes, hanging fresh and low over the distant horizon of the calm blue sea. With no small amount of effort, she managed to peel her eyelids apart and look out onto the white sand of the beach, her right hand cupped at her brow to block the worst of the sunlight.

What she saw made her wonder if she wasn’t still sleeping, so she shut her eyes again and rubbed the fogginess from them. After a moment she tried again, overcoming a splitting headache and opening her eyes, only to confirm that the beach was in fact covered in a menagerie of variously sized bright red apples.

Apples as wide as boulders and as long as school buses. Apples as tall as a five story building casting gigantic apple shaped shadows for hundreds of feet behind them. Some apples, in varying sizes, were sunk deep into the sand, submerged almost half way up their sides – while other apples rolled around in the sea breeze like bright red tumbleweeds. Several dozen of these latter apples had collected in a jumble on the edge of the forest, held there by the line of palm trees, like leaves collecting against a fence.

Tilda looked around in amazed confusion. Eventually she caught sight of unexplained patches of darkness on the sand here and there – shadows cast by no apple she could see, large or small. Finally, she craned her neck back and looked up into the sky. There, at varying heights above the beach, a half dozen apples floated impossibly ranging from regular size up to the size of a hot air balloon.

“Magnitudine Meipsum Imperium!”

No sooner had Tilda heard Byron’s voice somewhere out among the dozens of apples than a new apple exploded up into the sky and out in an expanding sphere. In a flash, it increased in size until it was larger than any other apple on the beach, at least as large as a ten story building, towering over the house. When it stopped expanding it settled gently to the ground with nary a rumble and gently began floating up into the sky. Tilda gaped at the humongous floating apple in amazement as it passed in front of the sun and briefly cast a shadow so large onto the beach that everything was plunged into momentary darkness.

When the sunlight returned Tilda scanned the long, apple strewn beach and found Byron, with Faustus and Korbius in tow close behind him. Beside Byron was a pile of hundreds of apparently normal apples. As Tilda watched, Byron picked up an apple off the top of the pile and his skin began glowing white. When he let go of the apple, it floated gently in the air in front of him, also gently glowing white. This time Tilda barely made out the channeling words as he spoke them.

“Pondus Meipsum Imperium.”

The apple appeared unchanged. Byron gestured for Korbius and Faustus to back away, and then did so himself. They all three took shelter behind an apple the size of a large trailer. Peeking out from behind their strange cover, Byron raised his hand and the normal looking apple stopped floating and fell to the ground.

It fell as a normal apple would, but when it impacted the entire island shook. Tilda held tightly to the armrests of the wicker chair, nearly falling out of her seat, and watched as a plume of dirt a dozen meters high rose into the sky and fell down in a fine dusting. It was as if an asteroid had shot down from space and slammed into the beach. When the sand settled, the apple was no where to be seen and Byron stepped out from behind his giant apple barrier wearing the broad smile of a mad scientist.

Tilda stood up carefully and walked out onto the sand, gently nursing her temples with her the fingers of both hands. She slowly made her way through the maze of various sized apples and approached Byron, who had run out toward his now scattered apple pile and picked up another one eagerly.

He was about to begin another experiment when he saw Tilda approaching and gave her an enthusiastic wave.

“Good morning,” he yelled happily, and made an encompassing gesture toward the strewn contents of the beach with both his hands, “amazing right?!”

Tilda passed through the shadow of a red apple the size of a two-family home and looked up its tall, shiny curve as she went. “They sure are . . .” she began, struggling for the right word, “. . . apples.”

Korbius’s voice found its way into Tilda’s mind, exacerbating her head ache terribly.

Master Byron has mastered the apple, small human Tilda. No apple can withstand Master Byron’s will!

Tilda gave the octopus a pained nod as she bridged the final few feet between them, her eyes clamped shut. She wondered how much she had drunk the night before? She maneuvered herself into one of the shadows of the floating apples and sat down cross-legged on the sand, eyes barely open.

“I’m impressed,” she said, “confused, but impressed.” Suddenly, she remembered Byron walking out of the house the night before with a small bowl full of apples. “Wait, where did these all come from?”

Byron’s self-satisfied smile broadened even wider and he pointed to the Cantos, which Korbius held aloft in one of his tentacles.

“I was running out, so I did some reading and found a section called ‘Replication’,” Byron said and raised his eyebrows in a dubious way, “they’re not all perfect, but I eventually got the hang of it.”

Sensing Tilda was in pain, Faustus grabbed one of the normal looking apples from the ground gently in his mandibles and marched it over to Tilda, dropping it in her lap. Tilda gave the spider a gracious pat on the head, though she was anything but hungry. Still, she picked up the apple and quickly gave it a bite to put the spider at ease.

Almost immediately she spat the contents of her mouth out onto the sand and started coughing.

“It tastes like sardines!” she managed eventually, “why does it taste like sardines?”

Byron kicked awkwardly at the sand, “yeah, some of them are a little weird,” he said, “but Korbius is crazy about them.”

As Byron said this Korbius swept a tentacle down and grabbed ten or more of the scattered apples in his tentacles, stuffing them into his hidden oral cavity and gurgling contentedly.

Will the small one finish her apple?

Tilda shook her head in disgust and tossed the apple toward Korbius, who caught it with a sweep of tentacle and ate it happily. Tilda spat into the sand a couple of times.

“So you’re changing their size,” she said, pointing to the apple the size of a pick-up truck floating a hundred feet or more above them, in whose shadow she currently sat, “and I’m guessing their density?”

Byron nodded. “It was hard at first – if you’re not careful they can implode,” he said, “or explode.” He pointed to a section of forest down near the water where the palm fronds were all covered in heaping wads of browning applesauce. “But I think I’ve got it down now.”

Byron bent down, picked up one of the apples, gave it a whiff, and then satisfied that it was a better copy, mumbled the appropriate words. The apple expanded to twice its normal size in Byron’s hand. He smiled at Tilda, took a bite, and tossed it to her.

Tilda caught the heavy thing in her lap and lifted it up, examining it carefully.

As she looked it over, Byron explained. “It’s all about the speed of the change. Too fast and things can get out of control. To slow and the apple gets unstable. It all has to happen evenly, from the center out.” His confidence faded and he scratched his head, “or maybe everywhere inside the apple at once. . .” he sighed. “To be honest, I’m not really sure what I’m doing, but it seems to be working.”

Eyes wide in spite of her headache, Tilda leaned in and took a hesitant bite out of the apple’s side. It tasted juicy and delicious, neither too dense or too light, just exactly like a surprisingly large but otherwise normal apple.

“I’m impressed, Byron,” she said after swallowing the bite and taking another, “really. It’s good too.”

“Thanks,” Byron said, taking a deep breath and looking around, “it’s not a bad plan.”

Tilda blinked and looked around, first at the beach full of ridiculous apples and then at Byron. She managed a generous “huh?”

Byron pointed at the open purple door to the portal, through which the Unmaker’s shadowy form could clearly be seen, significantly closer than It was the day before.

“Does that portal have a size limit?” Byron asked.

Tilda shook her head, “it shouldn’t” she said, and then pursed her lips in confusion. “I don’t mean to be dense, but I think I’m missing the *plan* part of this plan. I’m all about the element of surprise, Byron, but,” Tilda hefted the extra large fruit in the palm of her hand, “I’m not sure an apple’s gonna cut it.”

Byron shot her a mischievous smile and began to explain.

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