Smallishzine 2.0

i also made one of the cover art!

-----

The first time it was an accident. Kind of. It was the magical nametags’ fault for being so flimsy! Laid out, the selection of first origins for this New Life of theirs–no one had told him how they worked! It was perfectly reasonable for Joel to think he had to crack the tag like a glowstick to enter his first life! And it wasn’t hard, either - wood like paper, snapping cleanly in half with one squeeze. As the light of origins flared, and his friends stared, Joel realized none of their nametags were broken.

The life granted him was a Hippogriff. The nametags at the moment of origin read HIPPO and GRIFF. And the Universe followed to the letter.

Or, close enough. Hippos don’t normally have wings, Griff was pretty sure. He still had the powers of Joel the Hippogriff, but he was Griff the Hippo. Thankfully, Griff was almost exactly like Joel. Fast-talking, dryly sarcastic, building platform after platform for his nest (hippos don’t build nests, except they do, because Griff did and he was one). A bit more gruff, perhaps - or a bit more Griff.  He’s pretty sure Joel would’ve talked himself out of making that joke.  Being a strong semi-aquatic mammal that can lift anyone and also has wings felt like a broken power set, and Griff liked that. He could build a jail in his nest, fly four kilometers to find a red panda, stick it on his head, and fly home in the space of an afternoon. Not that Red went in the jail–that was for villagers and cows and other animals not as cool as Red. Red was a friend, a companion.

Joel and Griff shared one more similarity. Hubris. The flying ship near his Nest had been taunting Griff since day one. The skies were his domain to conquer! And once he figured out the secret of vegetable soup, nothing could stop him from clearing those pesky Phantom spawners - especially if he went during the day. As soon as the Phantoms appeared, they began to burn. But they did not burn instantly. And in the golden armor required to be light enough to fly, Griff also burned under their claws.  It was fitting he died still airborne. Griff, the flying Hippo, to the last.

-----

The second time was on purpose. Kind of. Joel’d already planned to break the nametag again. Just to see what would happen. Except the Universe wasn’t expecting Griff to die so soon–the ink on the tag hadn’t dried. As the wood began to crack under his fingers, Joel saw the ink smear along his thumb.

The life granted him was a Dullahan. The nametags at the moment of origin read DULLA and dAN. And the Universe followed to the letter.

(In hindsight, he was lucky the Universe didn’t decide to make him into an actual dulla. Maybe it wasn’t versed in camel biology, or maybe it knew and chose to be kind this time. Hard for a dulla to build anything, after all. Worse, he could’ve become Dull Ahan!) 

Dulla Dan the Headless Horseman of Death and Doom spent the first part of his un-life grumbling about his housing situation. Griff’s-nest-that-was-now-Dan’s wasn’t all bad, just. Incredibly ill-designed for someone who couldn’t fly. And needed to be under the roofs Griff didn’t build.  And couldn’t eat anything from the farms Griff did build. Building the staircase directly over the waystone wasn’t actually Griff’s fault, but having someone to blame besides himself felt right to Dan, and so he blamed Griff. For putting the waystone where a staircase should go.  (The fact that this was still, functionally, Joel blaming himself was not lost on either Joel or Dan. Neither cared. Nothing was more Joel-like than dryly blaming a different Joel for his problems, editor Joel.) At least the Marvins were there for him, stabled beside his soulfire snack house–whether Dan wanted or not, they never left. He never left? Dan never knew if it was one Marvin hivemind, or separate Marvins. But at least they were fast, and friendly, and they weren’t Griff.

For all that Dulla Dan hated Griff, he shared his fatal flaw. Hubris. Looking for Dan-ger went too well. Perhaps without flight, Dan forgot how dangerous rockets were. Perhaps surviving a fall into an Ancient City had made him sure he couldn’t un-die. Or perhaps the ego of Joel would always lead to it ending this way. At least he went out with a bang.

-----

The third time was a mistake. Not in the unintentional sense–Joel absolutely meant to break the name tag. It was even flimsier than the last, crumbling in his hand. The end of it breaking off, falling to the floor as the light flared. The mistake was trusting the Universe again.

The life granted him was a Kindling. The nametags at the moment of origin read KIND and LIN, and a fallen G. And the Universe followed to the letter.

As soon as he became Kind Lin, the part that was still Joel felt an invasion in his mind. Rushing like a river, smoothing the rocks of his personality into something with less sharpness. Something gentler than Joel. Weakening the dry wit, slowing the fast speech, replacing hubris with humility. Making changes not just to what he was, but who.  And Joel wanted to be angry. How dare the origin twist deeper than it should, than it had for Griff or Dan? How dare the Universe corrupt his thoughts like this? Wrangle his sneer into a smile like a paper doll? Shouldn’t he be angry about that? Isn’t he furious? Wouldn’t anyone be?

Ah, but being furious about it wouldn’t be very Kind, would it? And Lin was now nothing if not Kind.  And so the anger suffocated in its silenced cage, replaced by a forgiveness coating his sharp tongue in velvet, sickly-sweet. Justifications bubbled unbidden to drown his righteous rage, dousing it to mere smoldering ember–an irony not lost on the man of flame. The Universe wasn’t hurting him by warping his behavior, forcing agreement through his teeth. It was just doing its job: making him what the tag said. Kind Lin(g).  And what a thorough job it did! Joel’s never been a kinder man. Well done!

As if the Universe knew it had done wrong, it left a Marvin behind for Lin to ride to his new-old home. And he was grateful for it. (Mostly for the sake of his knees.) Lin was kind enough to go back and gather all of Dan’s things from the dangerous dungeon, before even building himself somewhere to sleep. Kind enough to speak compliments to passersby, even when he struggled to find words sweet enough to meet the standards of his name. Kind enough to go visit little Jimmy despite his arthritis, and give him gifts–since Lin was old, and would die soon, he could give an advance on his will to such a good friend.  Out of the kindness smothering his heart.

-----

And now he is here. A kind old man, sitting by the fire, waiting for the world to end. He knows this isn’t The End, not for Joel. Joel will have many more lives, many more adventures. Most of them will probably be as Joel, even, not someone else. But it is the end for Lin, and what’s left of Griff and Dan as well. They were always temporary, always ephemeral, and it’s Lin’s turn to go back to Joel. He could’ve had more lives–or maybe not. Maybe a broken tag counted as two. It doesn’t matter now.