back to the Sprawl, we had to either go through Glamere once more-definitely not an option-or pass through the Wyldwood, Dominion of Lord Amon, King of the Shapeshifters.
When I brought this up to Devona, she said, “Couldn’t we take a shortcut across the grounds of the Nightspire?”
The Nightspire rests on a small island in the middle of the pentagram that is Nekropolis. This island is surrounded by the fiery waters of Phlegethon, the same waters which enclose the city and separate the five Dominions from each other. But in addition to the main bridges, there is a second set of smaller ones which connect each section of the city to the Nightspire. Devona’s suggestion made sense on the surface. It would make our journey to the Sprawl far simpler and less deadly if we could walk from the Boneyard to the Nightspire, pass the bridge leading to the Wyldwood and take the one which led to the Sprawl.
“Unfortunately, it isn’t that simple. During my time here, I’ve had occasion to travel a good bit of the city. I had the same idea as you a while back and tried to cross over one of the bridges to the Nightspire.”
“What happened?”
“It didn’t work. Powerful winds buffeted me, nearly knocking me into Phlegethon. When I retreated, the winds ceased. I later learned from Gregor that the wind, which he said was caused by the invisible Furies which guard the Nightspire, repels all who attempt to cross-not including the Darklords, of course-unless they are accompanied by one of Dis’s representatives.”
“So that’s out then,” Devona said. “And we can’t risk another encounter with Lady Talaith.”
“I’d rather not,” I admitted.
“Which leaves only the Wyldwood.”
“Talk about Scylla and Charybdis.”
Her eyebrows rose. “I didn’t realize you were so well read.”
“Yeah, well, when you don’t sleep, eat or go to the bathroom anymore, you have a lot of extra time for reading. Let’s go. And on the way, maybe you can talk me out of it.”
SIXTEEN
Before leaving the Boneyard, Devona and I discussed the best way to make it through the Wyldwood. Devona argued that the Accord which established unrestricted travel on the Obsidian Way would protect us in the Wyldwood, and so we should stay on it. I countered that might be true- if we were traveling in a vehicle, preferably a very fast one that could outpace a speeding lyke. But by walking completely unprotected out in the open, we would be marking ourselves as prey for every denizen in the Wyldwood. And Accord or no Accord, no lyke would pass up the opportunity to attack a pair of morons who wouldn’t even bother trying to conceal their presence. As far as a lyke would be concerned, anyone that stupid deserved to have their flesh shredded into bloody gobbets.
“But the lykes will still be able to catch our scent, whether we’re traveling on the Way or not,” Devona said.
“Off the Way, we can move through the trees, and that will help mask our scent somewhat,” I suggested. “Plus, my zombie…uh, ambience will seem more like rotting carrion in the woods, where there’s less chance of lykes seeing me and realizing the smell is coming from a walking dead man. If they think I’m just the remnants of another lyke’s kill, they’ll leave us alone and go off in search of fresh prey.”
In the end we compromised. We’d travel overland but stick as close to the Obsidian Way as possible, so we could return to it if necessary.
We crossed the Bridge of Silent Screams, left the Obsidian Way, and entered the dense tangle of forest that was the Wyldwood. We picked our way carefully through the underbrush, searching for a path and trying not to make too much noise lest we attract the attention of any lykes that might be nearby. Lykes were chaotic enough outside their Dominion, but here they were totally wild, killing on sight any who dared attempt to cross their land. Like I said, Devona and I made our way very carefully.
Despite the thickness of the forest, we could still see well enough. Some strange quality of Umbriel’s shadowy light? Or maybe Lord Amon’s magic was responsible. Whichever, I was grateful. Otherwise, I would have been totally dependent on Devona’s vampire vision to lead me-and I don’t like being dependent.
Still, being able to see didn’t help us navigate. I’d been a city boy all my life and death, and Devona had spent most of her existence within the Cathedral and the surrounding environs of Gothtown. Neither of us was exactly a skilled outdoorsman. In order to make sure we didn’t stray too far from the Obsidian Way, Devona had to climb trees a number of times to check the position of Umbriel and get a fix on our location. She went up with an easy grace and came down the same way, and watching her, admiring her strength and beauty, I felt a strange tightness in my chest. I told myself it was probably the result of the numerous injuries I’d sustained since taking on Devona’s case, but I knew better.
After one such check, Devona climbed down from a large oak, a deep scowl on her face and said, “As near as I can tell, we’ve been going in circles-and I couldn’t see any sign of the Way.”
“Maybe there’s some sort of enchantment on this Dominion that makes navigating difficult.” I said this to make Devona feel better, but in truth I figured we two city kids had simply lost our way. I would’ve killed for a compass, but I’m not certain one would work in Nekropolis’s dimension. I thought for a moment, trying to get my dead brain to cough up what little woodlore it knew. “Maybe we should start marking trees as we go, so at least we don’t-”
Devona put a finger to her lips to shush me, and then she touched her ear. I listened, but I didn’t hear anything. Devona’s half-vampire hearing was far superior to mine, though, so I listened again, and this time I heard it: a soft rustling of leaves, not very far away and coming closer.
A lyke? I mouthed. The Wyldwood was home to many ordinary animals as well, all prey beasts for the lykes to hunt. Hopefully, what we heard was only a deer and not a savage shapeshifter come to gut us and feast on our entrails.
Devona shrugged then sniffed the air. At first she frowned, and then nodded, but she didn’t seem all that certain. I wondered why, but knew now wasn’t the time to ask. Something was coming, and whatever it was, I doubted it was the Welcome Wagon. I wished I’d given in to Devona earlier and stuck to the Obsidian Way like she’d wanted, but it was too late for regrets now. We headed off through the brush in the opposite direction of the rustling, trying to be as silent as we could, but being two city dwellers, I sure we failed miserably.
The rustling became a crashing as something loud bounded toward us. I pulled my 9mm out and rested my finger easily on the trigger. I only had five silver bullets left-not nearly enough to get us through the Wyldwood, but I couldn’t worry about that now. Whatever it was came around our left and then approached from in front, slowing as it neared.
I aimed my weapon at the spot in the brush where I judged the lyke would appear and waited.
A few seconds later the leaves parted and I tightened my finger on the trigger. But then I paused as a six- foot white rabbit with yellow eyes stepped out of the underbrush.
“Don’t tell me,” I said. “You’re late for a very important date.”
The hare scowled. “Funny. But if she’s Alice, then who the hell are you?” The voice was masculine, if a bit on the high side.
“I’m the guy who’s got a gun full of silver bullets pointed at your chest. Please tell me you’re not a carnivorous bunny.”
The rabbit’s large amber eyes fixed on my pistol, but his voice remained steady enough. “Who ever heard of such a thing?”
“This is Nekropolis, pal. A meat-eating rabbit would actually be rather mundane here.”
“Good point. But no, I’m not a predator.” He opened his mouth and displayed flat rabbit teeth. And then his form blurred and shifted until before us stood a thin, but still rabbity looking young man his mid-twenties, with an unruly shock of white hair and wearing nothing but a pair of overalls.
“Where did the pants come from?” I asked, curious. “I mean, you weren’t wearing them before, and now here they are.”
He shook his head as if I’d just asked the stupidest question imaginable. “Magic. A far better question is where did you two come from?”
