Syth and Axe (part 17) - Into a Realm of Nightmares

 

Syth and Axe vol. 17

- The Realm of Nightmares

1964 - Near Salem, Massachusetts

The Unscarred ruler of the Pact, a disfigured dogman named Marcellus, stood in a dark forest, feeling the waves of fear wash over him. Something was off about this place - a feeling he hadn’t had since escaping California. This broad land, full of strange mysteries… 

And here, where the humans had sown so much terror and discord, still reeked of it.

Fear.

Dark loathing.

He tasted it like a fine wine upon the wind - years of it, a vintage of unspoken quality - roaring through these villages and towns.

And yet, in spite of it all, there was an almost dreamlike quality to it all.

The human named Paul had told him about an ancient witch that lived in these regions - someone known by the strange name Spearfinger. A near-immortal sorceress, dating back to before the Liminalis was bound beneath the earth - sealed with several elemental pedestals blessed by the rulers of those plain - before the coming of the Lemurians and their twisted realms, before the trapping of the Pact beneath the shadows of Santa Lucia.

Before the world ceased to make sense, this evil tyrant roamed the land, chanting strange calls to stragglers, gutting them with a long, spear-like finger, and consuming their insides.

Appropriate, then, that she’d surround herself with the likes of the Feral.

How was she keeping them in line, though? If they still lived up to their name, there should be corpses aplenty through these swamps and forests. But as far as he could tell, there were none that had gone missing. No one was dead.

Someone shifted along behind him. The smell of… moonshine, sweat, dirt… he sniffed the air again and turned. “Young Mr. Rip,” he growled, “Paul said you moved on?”

Rip shrugged and yawned. “Been a while since I saw him. Where is he?”

Marcellus’s broad furred shoulders rose in an approximation of a shrug. He crouched to be on Rip’s level. “What’s going on here?”

“Well, in a word - fear.”

Marcellus nodded. “I can smell it.”

“Oh, good, thought that was me.”

“I smell that, too.”

“Yeah, traveling the fairy realm gets a fella a bit dirty. Ever met Sune?”

Marcellus shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

Rip nodded. “Saved me in the fairy realm when some ol’ thing decided to lunch on my arm.” He wiggled the stump. “Got a strange new one in return. Was big an’ hairy, kinda like you. Maybe you guys are related?”

“I doubt it,” Marcellus replied, “we dogmen aren’t native to the fairy realm. This world is our home.”

“Interesting. I didn’t know that. So, you just popped into existence and then vanished?”

“We were more… imprisoned.”

“Ah, sent packing into a different realm - just like me!” Rip chuckled, “will wonders never cease?”

“You’re a strange human,” Marcellus muttered, rising back to full height, “I think I like you, though.”

Rip shrugged with a smile. “What brings ya to witch country?”

“Hunting a witch.”

“As one does, don’t think there should be witches that aren’t hunted. But why this specific witch?”

“You heard of these ‘fear eaters,’?” Marcellus asked, gazing off into the darkness, the smells of the swamp rising up, wafting on the salty breeze to meet his senses.

Rip nodded, “heard that they’ve been moving into the area over the last few years. Cole said not to sleep here.”

“Cole? The Outsider?”

“I guess so?” Rip replied. “Loner, no head or some sort of fake head, used to ride around on a big ol’ horse til Paul took its head off. Guess that makes it a headless horse horseman.”

Marcellus nodded. “I’ve never met him, but I’ve been told of his… exploits, and if he’s the one responsible… been the victim of his exploits.”

“That’s certainly one way to look at what he’s been doing,” Rip chuckled.

“He sent you to the fairy realm, didn’t he?”

“He did.”

“And you don’t seem bothered.”

A slight look passed through Rip’s features, then he returned to his jovial self, then he huffed and crossed his arms, his face falling again for a moment. “Not saying I’m okay with what happened - I think often ‘bout being forgotten for generations, put back in an’ ol’ dustbin of fiction, but,” he shrugged, sadly. “It is what it is.” He settled down on the ground, pulling a few leaves from his beard as he sat there. “Griping ‘bout it won’t turn back time.” He continued to groom the matt of hair.

The dogman gave a half-growl, half-laugh. “I like you, little human.”

Rip nodded, continuing to pluck at the strange growth of moss. “Mistletoe?”

Pine Barrens, same time

Syth slid a letter across the table. “I’ve been curious about this Lake Baikal I keep hearing about… I’m… curious about what might be growing over there. Strange things on the wind.”

“Cryptids?”

“No, not exactly - just animals found nowhere else.”

“Fed by a portal?”

“That’s what I’m thinking. Do you think Lemurians are active?”

Paul shook his head. “I don’t remember, but I think I remember seeing a bright spot on Germ’aine’s map in that area.”

Syth nodded. “I’m beginning to wonder if there’s a more stable portal there - things may be bleeding in from another realm? Think of what we found at Nahanni.”

“What about Sue? Is she near there?” Paul said, turning to Raven.

“We’d ask Bill, but can’t seem to get a letter to him… he’s on the move, apparently.”

“Why doesn’t he just come here?” Paul asked.

“Too crowded, apparently,” Raven scoffed.

Syth waved his arms around him. “They don’t call this the Pine Barrens because it’s packed with people. Well, looks like we’ll have to handle this one on our own. We get over there to see what we can find, and if we run into Sue, then great! If not, we just explore the lake and get as much information about their side of the portal as we can. Hopefully, we’ll find something that can destroy or imprison Spearfinger, whatever she’s planning.”

Outside Salem

Marcellus stood in the shadow of a forest, the edge of the swamp running off behind him. Rolling hills, graveyards, small townships - navigating this place and remaining secret was taxing. 

“How do you avoid detection?” He asked the small man. “I need to find a place for my Pact.”

Rip shrugged. “I’m a short bearded man. No one really cares. Can you become anything else? You are a werewolf, aren’t you?”

“I am not,” replied the dogman. “And no, I don’t have the ability to change.”

“Pity. Though your smell alone will give you away, even if you could cover up. Maybe you could shave?”

The Unscarred scowled down at the man, “How would you like to lose your other arm?”

Rip shrugged, “I’d be curious what would replace it. Now THAT would be interesting, wouldn’t it?”

Marcellus snorted.

“You have no ability to shift into any other form? How’d ya get across country?”

“It’s a big, empty place.”

“I guess, but you didn’t get seen by anyone?”

“No one’s going to believe a drunk on a back road.”

“But the Feral things around here, how have they avoided detection?” Rip asked. “They’ve apparently been here for some time.”

“Feareaters… they sap the strength and mind of their victims.”

“And you can’t?”

“I won’t.” There was a finality to his voice that even Rip knew not to push.

“How long were you dogmen imprisoned out there?”

“Too long.”

“Why?”

Marcellus eyed the forest. It was quiet and still. Small insects explored him, decided it wasn’t worth the trouble, and flitted away. The silence seemed to grow. Rip was about to ask again when the Unscarred finally spoke.

“We were hunting some traitors.”

“The Feral?”

“The Liminalis.”

“I’m not sure what that is,” replied Rip with a yawn.

“He’s an unbelievably powerful being… can feed on fear without losing his sanity. Essence of the void itself.”

“Without losing sanity, eh? I wasn’t aware you lost it.”

“That’s where the Feral come in - they’ve given themselves over to it.”

“So you trapped the Liminalis?”

Marcellus nodded, “with some help, yes. We sealed it with these elemental stones.”

Rip sat on the dirt and stretched.

“I wouldn’t recommend sleeping here.”

Rip shrugged, leaning against a nearby tree. “Can’ really help it,” he replied. “What happens, happens. So… who helped you?”

“Those Watchers, for one.”

“The ones Bill and Paul dealt with?”

Marcellus shrugged his broad shoulder, crouching slightly, resting on his haunches. “I’m not sure what happened to them, but yes. The ones that imprisoned us helped us imprison the Liminalis first. Once we’d sealed him in, we sealed the Feral away so they’d never free him or reproduce him.”

“Where?”

“Apparently in some other reality altogether.”

“Fairy realm?” Rip asked.

“No, something… different. I’m not totally sure. I guess there are other realities beyond the fairy realm.”

Rip nodded, “Been to a few of them, I think.”

“You have?” Marcellus replied.

“Oh yah,” Rip replied, “traveled to see some bird-people in this weird castle, wandered the fairy realm with some big monkey-like guy names Sune - he always called me Kneelength on account o’ the beard. We destroyed this weird horned/antlered bird thing that could shapeshift - at least its clones. I’m not sure what exactly it was. When I was rescued from my curse by Ger’maine, I accidentally fell into this icy place and met some guy named Kringle. Done a bit of work for him.”

“Ice realm?” Something seemed to trigger in Marcellus’s mind, an old memory. “Big beard? Missing an arm?”

Rip nodded. “Yeah. His arm’s mechanical now, so I’m assuming he got it replaced. His place is impressive, like a giant clockwork paradise, if you like those things.”

“And how do you get there?”

Rip held up the small fairy cross. “This.”

Marcellus leaned close, giving it a sniff. “The ice stone.”

“Ice stone?”

Marcellus lowered it. “This… is part of a stone that they intended to use to imprison us. Apparently they never used it again after we fought back.”

Rip held it a moment, gazing at its geometric angles. Small carvings traced the faces, perhaps some language that revealed its origin. He slid it back into his shirt, now imagining a strange cold against his chest. “Ger’maine gave it to me to save my life when I was fading out of reality. They originally used it to… imprison you?”

Marcellus shook his head. “No,” he corrected, “they tried to, but we fought them back - drove them out of our region.”

“But the Watchers?”

The dogman nodded. “Never fully in or out of our reality. Any time we tried to muster an attack on them, they’d vanish.”

“Then why not leave the valley?”

“We couldn’t. They may not have trapped us in the other realm, like they did with the Feral, but they trapped us in those ranges.”

Rip felt the gem against his chest vibrate slightly. He gazed around. “Then… what happened to the Watchers?”

Marcellus shook his head. “I’m not sure. I think they vanished, but their force remained until Liminalis was released.”

Rip sighed, “all so complicated.” He yawned, nodding off momentarily, “Why’s everyone so worried about me sleeping here, though. I haven’t been captured yet, and I sleep out here all the time,” he rose to his feet. “Ugh… winked out for a sec there. Feelsh like I’ve been out for a month,” he slurred.

Marcellus eyed the bearded man. “Are you okay?”

Rip nodded. “I’m fine.”

The dogman shook his head. “You’re not.”

The short man chuckled. “I’m fine,” he repeated.

“You just said that.”

Rip shook his head. “Said what?”

“That ‘I’m fine.’”

“Did not, but it’s true. I’m fine.” his speech slurred.

Rip staggered slightly, his breath coming as a wheeze. His long beard wagged back and forth for a moment. Marcellus barely leapt in time to catch him before he pitched forward, his skin going pale. His eyes popped open again, blinking against the sky. “Wh-wh… where am… I? Serpent… the orbs… not wisps…”

Marcellus placed him gently on the ground, face-up.

“Wh-what…” he trailed off, freezing. His mouth sagged open slightly.

A shadow coiled nearby - serpentine in form, but more of a dark, malevolent cloud. A small collection of objects glowed slightly as the shadow faded away, leaving strange werelights hovering beside them. They blinked slightly, wavering in the air, then faded out one by one.

Two weeks later, Pine Barrens

Marcellus stood against the wall of Syth’s cabin. The body of the small man lay on a bed in the corner, snoozing restlessly. His mouth muttered something unintelligible… something about “Snail… gast…”

“Any idea what he’s saying?” Paul said with a yawn. He stretched his neck.

Raven shook her head. “He’s muttering something.”

“Gast - is that German?” Paul wondered aloud. He’d learned a bit of it through the years, but wasn’t sure on this one. He turned to the door. “Syth?”

Syth stepped into the dim light of the cabin, wings folded back like a vampire’s cape. He gazed down at Rip. “Any news?”

Paul shook his head. “He’s muttering various words, I may have heard German.”

“Guess his ancestry dies hard, maybe it’s Dutch or something? Any idea what the word was?”

“Ghast…” Paul replied, “could be anything. Is it ‘ghost’ or something like that?”

“Not that I know of,” Syth replied. “Maybe he’s saying ‘ghastly’? Something he sees in the dream is terrifying him?”

“Sounds awful fancy for Rip.”

“He surprises us sometimes,” Syth replied, pausing to watch the small man.

Paul yawned again and settled down in the corner.

Marcellus entered the room. “Any news?”

“No, just muttering and moaning. He’s clearly in some sort of nightmare.” Syth stretched and yawned. “I don’t sleep, but it feels very tempting right now. I might’ve actually just nodded off there for real…”

Paul nodded his agreement with another yawn, his own eyes growing momentarily heavy. The exhaustion of the last few weeks, the vigil over Rip, and the struggle to find anything on some strange ghostly snake that dissolves into orbs - every mythology had a serpent creature. Which did they look to?

“Paul, wake up!” The man jumped awake. He’d dozed off again. Apparently that had been the trick, for he actually felt refreshed for the first time in weeks.

It was a few hours’ trek through the wilderness, but they finally arrived. “What is it?” Raven asked.

“Looks too much like a portal not to be.” Syth replied, his wings pulled tightly around him. Raven sat on her haunches, her glamour having dropped and returning her to her dogman form. Her tail flicked lightly.

“It’s peaceful here,” she said.

“For now,” Syth replied.

Something rumbled behind them.

“Told you.”

Syth rose and turned. Paul strode up, satchel slung about his hip.

“Sleep well?” Syth said with a laugh. “Got the dynamite?”

“If you must know, yes on both accounts.”

“Try not to use it unless absolutely necessary.” Syth and Raven followed him. “Are you sure about this?”

Paul shrugged. “Not sure we have much other choice. Rip’s in trouble.”

Marcellus folded his arms across his broad, scarred chest. “I shall remain here in vigil over his body.”

“This is unlike you, father,” Raven observed.

Marcellus shrugged. “The Pact is watching the witch. Besides, this human amuses me. I wish to see how he fares.”

Syth looked at Paul. “Raven and I will stay here with the Unscarred.”

Something shifted in the darkness, and a mounted figure rode in from the forest, its mount’s dark eyes glowing red, a pale mask sitting on the rider’s face, obscuring his features. But everyone knew what he was.

Marcellus bristled before he saw the man, seemingly sensing him or catching the scent on the wind.

“Stranger, I know you,” he growled.

“You knew a version of me,” came the response.

“You have some nerve coming here,” Paul spat.

Paul glared at the slender horseman, no longer astride his old charger, that horse having died for good in the realm of Nahanni. “Congrats on the new horse, I guess. Where’s John?”

“Why have you come, Cole?” Syth asked.

Raven exchanged glances with her father, who glowered at the newcomer. “It was you…” he growled.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cole replied. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t be so foolish as to admit it.”

“Not that we could do anything to you,” Paul observed.

“Fair point,” Cole replied with what Paul could only assume was a metaphysical approximation of a smirk. The man pushed back his jacket, revealing the very dagger he’d used against Paul - his most recent betrayal. “I won’t use this on you again, of that I promise. You must understand how necessary it was for me to do what I did.”

Syth’s blades extended, “And you’ll understand if I rip your skin off your corpse.”

“You could try,” Cole replied, not even turning.

“And you’ll understand, Cole, that you claim innocence every time.”

“Oh, I never claim innocence. I rather claim a justification.”

“Justification for stabbing me in the back - literally?” Paul accused.

“Yes.”

Paul scoffed. “You’re bold. I’ll give you that. So tell me, noble horseman, why do you want to enter the Blue Hole in the middle of the Pine Barrens?”

“I have business in Baikal.”

“More treachery?”

“Perhaps.”

“And you expect us to just guide you there? Go there yourself.”

“I’m afraid something prevents me from this portal in particular.”

“How tragic.” scoffed Syth.

Paul scowled at the man.

“And look at it this way,” Cole said, hands wide, turning to the assembled crew, “if I betray him, I’ll be trapped in the Soviet Union, away from whatever it is you are trying to accomplish here today.”

“He has a point,” growled Marcellus, “better to trap your enemy far away than sit over his cell and stew. The power this one possesses is best taken elsewhere.”

Paul eyed him. “And if you betray me…” he let the statement hover in the air.

“Then hopefully you’ve found a way to kill me.” Cole replied, tapping the empty air where his head should have been.

Paul nodded to the others. “I’m fine. I’ll take him wherever he needs to go, and I’ll find them.”

“We’ll let Bill know.” Raven replied.

Paul nodded. “If he can find a way over, send him along. I could use the company. And if our friend here is the one the Unscarred thinks he is, I’m sure he’ll want to meet up again.”

Cole stood still.

Syth scowled. “Fine, you’ll do it whether I agree or not. We’ll watch over Rip…”

“... and see what that witch is up to,” Marcellus replied.”

“And I’ll keep them both in line,” replied Raven. “Hurry back.”

Paul slid the amulet off his neck, holding it in his hand. “Put your hand on me.”

Cole obeyed, and Paul stepped through the ring of stones that surrounded the deep blue pool. There was a slight resistance that gave way to a thick feeling in the air, and everything around them vanished, leaving a yawning hole in front of them. Bleached skeletons lay in various states of repose down the maw of the pit, as if it had been used as a bone pit.

“The connection between the realms is rarely clean,” Cole whispered, almost reverently.

“You knew of this?”

Cole nodded. “Yes. The bones of the dead are often tossed into holes like this, and anything entering drops down into the sides of the pit and remains, stuck as if by glue.”

“Maybe your head got tossed down in here.” Paul joked.

“If only it were that easy.” Cole replied.

Then they leapt, dropping down toward the center of the hole, passing splayed bodies strewn about on each side of them. They reached the bottom, but instead of striking water, or dirt, or anything of the sort, they found themselves in… snow.

Piles of crystalline ice met them, crunching against their boots and refusing to yield, shattering instead into thousands of glinting shards, which danced and tinkled before settling around like dozens of broken windows.

Paul rose, staring up at the yawning chasm above them. “So… we didn’t drown. That’s a good thing.”

“I’ve always wanted to be buried in the cousin of broken glass,” Cole retorted. “Would’ve rather stayed dead.”

“On that, I think we agree,” spat Paul

Cole gazed up the steep incline. The bones were still there, as if the portal they’d dropped through connected all its various realities with the same dead-strewn pit. He drew out a long dagger. “Might as well start climbing,” he said to his horse, which rapidly vanished into smoke. He stabbed the dagger into the wall and began to scramble up the razor-like surface. Slashes appeared across his gloves and coat as he slowly pulled himself higher and higher.

Then a shadow loomed, and he felt himself being plucked from the wall and tossed up to the rim.

A large man, barely able to squeeze out of the chasm, pulled himself free, small lines opening on his legs and arms as he did. Paul shrunk back to normal size.

“You could’ve led with that,” Cole reprimanded.

“And miss the fun of seeing you struggle for once? Nah, it was worth it.”

Paul brushed a few errant shards from his pants with the back of his hand, then plucked a few sliver-like shards from his skin.

“Where are we?” Paul asked, stepping out of the ring of snow-covered stones that rimmed the hole, Cole lightly brushing him as he did. They stepped out of the ring and heard something thunder, and as if on cue, a house appeared on the horizon. At first, Paul thought maybe it was an earthquake - the building with its dilapidated roofline sagging and swaying with each step, its side-walls shifting in and out and yet, but some strange mystical means, staying together, despite the jostling. A dented chimney pipe, black as soot, speared up through a hole in the roof, its top belching brownish-green smoke in small puffs.

Paul blinked. The house wasn’t shaking in an earthquake. It was walking. He’d defeated blind giants, creatures that had become legendary in the years since his battles with them, had traveled with things considered fantasy - but seeing a house - a mere assembly of rotting boards and pipes - lifted above the ground and moving on what appeared to be two large chicken legs just taxed him beyond the limits of his credulity.

He whispered to Cole. “You’re seeing this?”

Cole nodded, his face matching Paul’s emotions perfectly. For once, Cole seemed utterly unsure of himself. This… house… was beyond the pale for both of them.

Then a blonde woman appeared at their side, materializing as if she were an afterthought. “And who are you?” she asked.

Paul gazed at her, then replied “Name’s Joe.”

“Of course it is,” she replied. “And my name’s Sue.” She looked at Cole. “And you… what are you doing here?”

Cole dismounted, his horse dematerializing as he did. He barely spared a gaze for the woman. “I won’t be here long,” he muttered, refusing to give his name. “This normal?” He asked, nodding toward the strange house.

“Mostly,” Sue replied, “You git used’t’ it.” She then eyed the strange house before intoning in a commanding tone, “Hut, hut, turn thy back t’ the forest and thy front t’ us!”

Obediently, the house shuffled up, lurching and pitching, before turning around and settling down on a small knoll. Immediately, the front door burst open and dozens of sticks toppled out, quickly arranging themselves into a strange ramshackle fence that uncoiled around the perimeter, almost as if someone were staking out their yard. Apparently, that quite succinctly was what the house was doing - staking its claim to this land.

And as if to cement its authority, a heap of skulls toppled free from a small bag that had been hanging unnoticed from the side. They fell free, hovered slightly, then impaled themselves upon several of the stakes - spreading out in an orderly fashion - except for one. The one side of the front gate had a skull, but not the other.

Before Paul could question this, the house itself seemed to settle, the legs folding up underneath it and vanishing from sight. Other than the strange skulls and appearance that the house was on the verge of collapse, it seemed perfectly normal.

Sue gestured to the house. “She’ll be waiting inside.”

“Why all the… normalcy?” Paul asked. “She has to know we saw the house walking over that hill.”

“She knows you’re not normal. She doesn’t care t’ hide her identity.”

The house settled down all the way, a small porch now visible off the front, and a sagging set of stairs leading to a dirt path that ran through a number of scorched, dead trees, which stood around them like burnt out telephone poles. For all appearances, this house had always been there. The door creaked open again, beckoning them inside.

Cole gestured to Paul and Sue with a smile. “Ladies first.”

Sue glared at him in a way that almost seemed to bely some level of recognition, then she shook her head and stepped through the gate. It creaked in protest, the lone skull sagging slightly. Had Paul seen a glow in its eyes? He followed the cowgirl as she strode boldly up the dirt path and onto the rotting staircase, which protested under her tread. In a few steps, she’d cleared the porch and vanished into the cabin, as if she’d owned the place.

Paul paused on the stairs, watching them shift slightly, as if bracing to accommodate his weight. He turned to Cole, who gestured him on. “Best not keep the old hag waiting. See you later.”

Paul’s brow creased at that, but he stepped up onto the staircase. It creaked but held firm.

The next few steps also held. He crossed the porch, his heavy boots thudding as he strode across its expanse, which now seemed wider than when Sue had just passed over it. He finally arrived at the front door, pushed it open, and stepped inside.

And immediately the outside world vanished, replaced by a yawning snowfield - distant, undefined cliffs rose beyond the fog. It was… an ethereal wilderness, devoid of any life.

The door to the cabin had dumped him onto a strange sort of landing. Stairs rose up before him, maybe five. For some reason, his ability to count seemed… disrupted somehow. From where he stood, he could see the upper parts of a flickering fire, a cauldron of some sort, the side of a table. On the far wall, ringing the window that showed a strange outside, was an arcing bookcase covered in scrolls, books, and various skeletal remains. A broken set of antlers hung high on the wall - not a mount, just a broken nub of one antler wedged into the wood, and another, whole, extending from the other side.

He was about to ask where he was when he smelled… something.

He’d been on a battlefield before. He remembered the strange haze that covered everything when the fighting died down, the rank stench of rot and decay, of festering wounds. That sickly-sweet stench of decayed meat.

And by the appearance of what was hanging over his head, he knew exactly what those were.

Hands.

Children’s hands.

He’d long lost his ability to be disgusted by the crimes these creatures he fought committed, and he’d lost too many friends and companions to spend much time grieving over every vile deed he saw, but a wave of revulsion washed over him. He felt his hand reach for his axe, but it was gone.

“Legends and lore come through my forest and into my cabin,” came a voice that sounded like it had just rumbled from the soul of the Tree Walker itself - gnarled and old, yet with an almost dreamlike quality to it - he felt his mind blur slightly as she continued to speak. “What brings you to an old grandmother’s residence?”

Paul gazed around. No sign of Sue or the old woman.

Then he heard something shuffle on the raised level of the cabin. A shrouded form - more the shadow than substance - seemed to ooze from behind a nearby cabinet. The full view of whatever it was was blocked by half-built shelves and bottles of strange organs, which bubbled and oozed in their containers. The strange way the light bent through them cast a morbid glow to the room, making whatever odd being was up there appear even worse in the distorted rays.

He stepped up the few stairs to the main floor of the cabin. No one.

He was alone. A bubbling pot, bottles, skeletal hands, severed heads, and all those still-rotting chunks of human flesh dangling overhead - signs that some sort of cannibal lived here. But there was no one.

He was alone in the cabin.

“Hello?” He asked. “Sue? Anyone? Anyone there?”

Something shifted above him again, giving him the distinct memory of the J’ba Fofi all over again. He could almost hear the skittering crackle of legs and claws scrabbling through a church cellar, could almost see the festering pustulent body of the mother of them all slowly descending from the ceiling. Then a girl stepped around the corner.

He started, his hand going again to the axe that wasn’t there.

“Wh-who are you?” the girl asked.

His eye flicked to a severed arm dangling just a few feet above her head. Her innocent eyes searched his as if she were completely unaware of what was happening around her.

“My name’s…” he thought for just a moment before stuttering, “Joe. What’s yours?”

“T-tatiana,” she replied. “Nice to meet you, Joe.”

“Are you here alone?” Paul asked, “Where are your parents?”

“T-they’re gone. I-I was left here… I d-don’t know why.”

Paul took a few cautious steps up the small staircase to the main floor. Tatiana stood near an old bookshelf, hugging it slightly. It was weathered, looked almost about to topple over under its own weight, yet didn’t budge at all. Bottles of various colors and containing no shortage of mysterious parts and creatures sat on the shelves, somehow not moving in the slightest, as if they’d been glued in place.

This whole place was a strange world of contradictions, inside and out.

Paul stretched out a hand to Tatiana. “Come, let’s get you out of here.” He felt a firm grip seize his, causing him to take a startled second look at the girl. Her fear-filled eyes were all that met him. He gave her a comforting squeeze.

She followed him, limping slightly down the stairs. He paused, hearing the creaking above, feeling a slight tremor to the house. He waited for it to settle - he was safe to keep going. He had no choice, really. He pushed open the rough-hewn door and took a step - onto a nonexistent porch!

He pulled his foot back with a lurch, almost falling back into Tatiana, who didn’t budge at all, or even flinch for that matter. She stood stone-still. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

He stared. The porch of the hut was several yards below him, and receding swiftly. The house was standing up!

“We have to jump. Hold on to me.”

“What?” She gasped.

“You heard me!” He scooped her up in his arms - it was like lifting lead - and braced himself. The ground was speeding away from them, the cabin rumbling and quaking apart.

“Hold on to me. All right?”

She buried her face in his chest.

He leapt.

The cabin fled away, long stilt-like chicken legs pivoting and moving off into the distance as he dropped. The unyielding ground sped toward him, the porch abandoned, the fence-line a perimeter guarding absolutely nothing.

He could feel his strength flooding into his legs. He tensed his core, easing his arms out away from his body so as not to crush the little girl once he landed.

And here came the ground.

He struck wood, toppled forward, turning his head and rolling into his strengthened shoulder so as not to crush Tatiana.

And then he smelled it again… that rank sickly-sweet stench of decay.

And he saw the shimmering lights of fire - the skull?

No, a bubbling pot.

A cabin.

He was lying on the cabin floor, wicked laughter cackling above him. He unfolded his arms, finding a small doll protectively wrapped in his embrace.

“Beautiful,” came the grinding voice, “such grace and self-sacrifice. Foolish, heartwarming.” Then the cackle began again.

He strode his way up the steps, only to find himself on the lower landing once more.

Something crackled high above, and as he gazed upward, beyond the shelves and cabinets, he saw a spined creature unfold itself - a perfect replica of the J’ba Fofi queen. Then something caught him like a net, pinning him to the floor. The spider skittered along the ceiling, its eyes glaring down at him from high above.

He rolled to his side, webbing stretching and snapping as he moved. He gazed up just in time to see it lunge at him.

His arms still bound, he fell back again, his shoulders hitting the front door, popping it open once more. Only this time, the porch was there. He fell back another step or two.

The webbing was gone. He rose on an elbow, looking out away from the house. The front yard was empty, and beyond were the barren forests and shattered trees of wherever this was that they had come into. He could just barely see the ring with the pool inside.

He saw something shuffle in the darkness, just beyond the fenceline. It was large, standing easily three or four times his height, and twice as broad. Tendrils or tentacles of some kind seemed to sprout off the sides, flailing and pulsing as it slid forward, toward the skull-lined fence.

It lumbered forward, silently passing through the trees. No, the living trees were moving out of the way and the dead ones were toppling. In the eerie light of the flickering skulls, he finally saw it.

“Tree Walker…”

He pulled himself upright as the massive tree-like creature moved just inside the ring of firelight, glowering at him through sickly-green orbs that mimicked the presence of eyes, hovering partway up the body, glaring at him.

“You’re dead. You’re a pile of ash and dust on the floor of the Barrens.”

He felt a hiss pass through his mind.

He stepped forward, his hand reaching for the axe once more in the hope it was there.

No luck.

He paused a short distance from the fence, glaring at the monstrosity before him. It seemed to be staring him down.

“I killed you once, I’ll do it again.”

Then the tendril shot out, latching around one of his arms and wrenching it down. He cried out as the bones began to bend. Another flailed around his throat. Just before everything went black, he bared his teeth and let out a blood-curdling yell - which came out more like a choked gasp before he felt a crack and everything went dark.

Again, he awoke on the lower landing of the cabin with a cackling voice reverberating above him.

“Without his weapons, he’s not so good.”

Paul pulled himself to his knees, rubbing a large hand along his throat. It was whole once more. He gaze up to the second landing, where the shadow of a gnarled figure stood next to what he could only assume was Sue.

“Are you done?” he spat.

“Hardly, my pet,” replied the older voice.

“Well,” replied Paul, standing. “I am.”

Then a blast thrust him out the door and into the front yard. He landed on the barren path leading from the roughshod porch to the bone-strewn fence. It was now that he gazed closer that he realized even the parts he thought were wooden were actually bone themselves - weathered and aged by years of exposure to the elements. He growled and pulled himself back to his feet, turning to the cabin.

Something shambled in the darkness. Expecting to see Tree Walker again, he rounded, plucking up one of the bone fence-posts as he did. He brandished it like a sword.

It was…

An ox. A very familiar ox… He felt his heart break at the sight.

It shivered and staggered forward, tumbling just outside the fence line. It had turned blue from exposure to the cold.

He pushed forward, finding that it had begun to snow, and the white flakes were building… fast.

He grabbed the ox and began to drag it back, pulling the large beast toward the flaming skull. Maybe it could provide just enough warmth to save the ox’s life. It lowed quietly.

“You’re going to be fine, Babe,” he muttered, not thinking. He pulled the ox further. Snow collapsed from overhead, burying the large blue ox before he could get it closer to the flame. He groaned and began to heave chunks of hardening snow out of the way, trying to gain purchase on any part of the blue creature’s body. The snow grew harder and harder.

Streaks of blood showed on the white. He felt a fingernail snap.

The snow had become hard as a rock.

Paul growled, rearing back a mighty arm to punch at the snow. But it wouldn’t budge. Blood poured freely down his hand. Then he felt the numbness settling in. The ice and rime was up to his waist now, having filled in around him as he fought to free the ox. He pulled, trying to pry himself free, but soon, he found himself up to his chest, then shoulders.

He let out a cry of frustration and defiance as it flowed up and over his head.

He sat in the darkness, scrabbling at the rock-like surface of the icy snow, feeling the choking cole slowly overtaking his senses. He coughed, hands scrabbling, uselessly pinned where they had been. Numbness…

Cold…

He felt the waves of the Nahanni River overtaking him. His mind plunged under the freezing waters.

Headless friends…

…running…

He could hear the strange gibberish as giant forms, speaking some strange, unintelligible language, toyed blindly with the corpses of his family… he’d forgotten… he hadn’t remembered when… when he had appeared and helped destroy… his mind swam.

Interesting… so you’ve encountered them more than once… and you ran…

…an axe…

He grabbed it, severing artery, cutting muscle.

He felt the tree-like leg strike the ground, thundering for miles around. He brought the axe screaming down on his foe - a giant of a man - his first real kill. It was an assisted kill - surrounded by the ruined buildings of a lumber camp - a camp he’d been absent from when it had been butchered. He’d been shown how to stand, he’d been shown…

He felt the cold of the snow enveloping him.

Stories folded in on themselves. That hadn’t been his first kill, but it had… his mind swam… his child, dead… his friends… dead… Seamus, John… he felt his breath coming in desperate, tight little gasps.

Cold…

…numbing cold…

Warmth

Everything went white.

The crackling of fire awoke him.

He groaned awake, feeling his bones slowly thaw. He stretched out his hands. They were raw and bloodied. A fingernail was still broken. He reached for his axe. It was still missing.

“Where am I?” He asked. “What happened?”

A shiny pointed nose, long, wispy hairs, a face that bore more resemblance to a leather raisin than human - these were the first features Paul saw. Then he saw the burlap sack-like clothes, the cord belt, the nearly-skeletal legs ending in sharp-toed feet. He saw the balding head, the paleness of the skin, the clever maliciousness in the eyes - or was it mirth - it seemed to cycle between several intimidating emotions all at once, as if he were seeing through a zoetrope. She appeared ancient as the sun and yet something youthful played about the edges of her reality.

“Nothing’s real in this place.” Paul said, an observation more than a question. Paul gazed up into the upper level of the cabin. “So, where am I for real?”

Then the illusion dropped. The old woman vanished, and he found himself sitting on the landing. An old woman, still looking the same as she did in the illusion, sat on the top of the stairs.

“Clever, and resourceful. Most can’t see through any illusions, much less ones that are multiple layers deep.”

“Normally, I see through them all right away. I must be in another realm altogether - one that you control?” His eyes drifted up to the strange ceiling high above, wondering if another spider was lurking there, but all he saw was those strange antlers. Paul stretched out a foot as if to step on the staircase and make his way up to the elderly woman. “Are you going to send me into another illusion again, or are we ready to talk?”

He placed his foot on the step, then the next, and the next. Soon, he was relatively-eye-level with the old woman. Correction, he stood about twice as tall as she was, and had to crouch to be roughly eye-level with her. “And who do I have the severe displeasure of meeting?”

“I go by whatever name suits me at the moment,” the woman replied, “but right now, you’ve heard me called ‘grandmother,’ so I guess you can call me that.

He quirked an eyebrow. “If you’re the same one Sue calls ‘grandmother,’ then my calling you that would make Bill and I distantly related, and I’m not okay with that.”

“I like the fire in this one,” the old woman said to no one in particular.

A beat of silence hung between them.

“So, what brings you here, Joe?”

“Trying to find out what’s going on in Baikal.”

“You haven’t come here about Spearfinger? Your sleeping friend?”

Paul felt a chill run through his body, a strange frisson that was both as much a warning as an invitation.

“Oh, I know about these things,” The old woman chuckled and shambled over to a rough-hewn stool. She settled herself on it and ran a wiry finger through her limp hair. “I find your conflicts with her… intriguing. Nothing more.” She plucked a bone - long and flat, perhaps a piece of skull - from her table and held it out. “There are creatures in this world that will fight over bones, even though there is nothing remaining of sustenance on them.” She cracked it open. “At least that’s what appears on the outside. In reality, there is nourishment to be had within.” This particular bone was, indeed, empty, so she grabbed another - an arm or leg bone of some sort. This she snapped, revealing the core of marrow inside. She slurped out the core of the bone with a smile, then tossed it aside. “This world appears dry and desiccated… but within, there is more…”

“And you’re driving off the other wolves so you can have the prey to yourself?”

“More like… I want to see which wolf deserves its share of the prey, and I’m helping you survive their onslaught while getting a little piece myself.” The old woman smiled and wiped her mouth. “Yes. Now, to the deal?”

“What is it?”

“Agree to return to me when I call for you, and to aid me in whatever I ask, and I shall reveal Spearfinger’s weakness to you.”

Paul laughed mockingly. “Seems like you’d get more out of this deal than I would.”

“Of course. Why else would I agree to it?”

Paul shrugged. “Well, I guess you don’t want complete control of the world enough. When you have a better deal, come find me,” with that, he turned and strode back down the stairs.

“Oh, I already control this world,” her voice was dark and malevolent now, her old woman guise slipping. A bone clattered to the floor, then another landed beyond him, clattering down onto the landing, where it lay still, sucked clean of its marrow. He kicked it out of the way and pushed open the door.

The shack was raised above the ground.

“You won’t be leaving, Paul.”

He turned and smiled. “Name’s Joe, and of course I will be,” and with that, he jumped.

He landed with a crunch.

When everything came into focus again, he was lying in a pool of water, his hands floating at his sides. He stared down, barely focusing, at the pool of bones. A pool of bones? He was about to breathe in when he realized he was floating in the Blue Hole, staring down at the mountains of bones that lay deep inside the pit. He popped his head up with a gasp, treading water.

He gazed around him. He was… somehow… in the fairy realm.

He swam to shore and pulled himself onto dry ground. He dragged himself farther up the bank, gasping for air. His weapon was gone, supplies gone, and as he felt around his neck - even the fairy cross was gone. He’d been stripped of everything save the clothes on his body.

He stared at the portal. It was a normal, still pool of water. He was trapped in the fairy realm.

“Again…”

Same time, elsewhere

Syth hadn’t slept in a long time - he just never needed to. But something about Rip’s unnatural slumber stirred something deep inside… and he settled down beside the bearded man, drifting off to sleep.

And was immediately dropped into a strange, fog-filled world of dead trees, barren, snow-covered plains, and a circle of stones. In it was a small fairy cross - Paul’s fairy cross.

He stepped over to it, then crouched, examining it before picking it up, half expecting to drop out of this world and back into reality. But no luck. He was trapped, and this gem didn’t work for him… at least right now. Had this been where Rip was all this time? And when Paul had left… had he actually entered the Blue Hole as planned, or had he fallen asleep as well?

He tested the ground. It was… some form of reality. He felt the soft pad of moss absorb his footfalls and he trekked across the clearing and into the dark, forbidding forest beyond.

Then the wind shifted, and something whispered in the shadows.

High above him, a form began to appear, as if forming from a dream. Its head was… strange… to say the least. From below, it looked like some sort of beaked serpent, with a long, muscular body and several long, powerful legs. Perhaps the most disconcerting feature was a series of long, flexible tentacles that dangled from its open maw.

He froze, watching the thing glide noiselessly overhead, the main trunk of the serpentine body barely visible in the fog. “Not you…” he whispered. “... of all the creatures, you…”

Long legs, tipped with deadly talons, lightly brushed the ground. He stayed stark still, watching the beast pass. Its lithe form appeared from one shadowed side, materialized more and more as it went, and began to vanish in the dense, souplike mists. All the while, its strange body and beaked snout giving it a strange combination of traits that instilled fear in even him. The raking talons passed inches above his head.

He watched until it vanished into the fog.

It made no sound as it was slowly absorbed by the grey-white fog.

He crouched, feeling his head pounding in his chest. If that creature was here… just on the other side of the veil… what else? He craned his ears toward the sky - silent. Silent as silk over stone. The creature was so completely untraceable.

Then a long neck burst from the fog, tentacles flailing and one large, glowing eye piercing through his illusion. It jetted straight for him, claws extended, teeth bared. He felt a long tentacle wrap his arm, pulling him toward the razor-filled mouth. Long claws extended from each side, grasping him by the arms.

His wings flared out to each side and jabbed downward, spearing into several of the tentacles, that quickly moved up to guard the monster’s face and maw.

He felt the creature’s weight collapse on him, and as he struggled to extract his blades from the tentacles, he felt the large beak-like mouth close on his shoulder. It would have been the middle of his chest had he not managed to shift last-minute. Blood sprayed.

Syth tore his wings back from the creature, wincing as the acidic saliva splashed across him. He coughed at the acrid stench and kicked. He twirled and stabbed, trying to get the creature to loosen its hold on him.

Another bite clamped down on his shoulder.

He swore, lashing out once, twice, a third time with his bladed wings. Blood sprayed from both of them. A clawed hand closed onto his wing before clenching, snapping down Syth’s wing-fingers. They resisted for a moment, their shield-like strength holding out for several moments before the incomprehensible force of the monster won out, driving down the bone and skin with a sickening snap. The shield shattered.

Syth winged and kicked, trying to vault the beast off of him. But it was no use.

A long, tentacle-covered, toothy beak clamped on him again.

He roared in pain and bashed his head against the creature.

He connected with the thing’s single eye. There was a strange popping sound, and the monster fell back with a shriek, blood spraying from Syth’s shoulder as the beak separated. Syth clamped a free hand over his lacerated shoulder and staggered away. He rushed into the fog, leaving the monstrosity roaring in pain behind him.

He slipped off the trail, blood pulsing, and pushed through a nearby grove of gnarled old trees. His heart raced, his head throbbed, and his wing was so mangled he couldn’t even feel it anymore. He muscled his way past the grove and into a small cavern, pausing momentarily to catch his breath. There was no doubt the creature would find him as soon as it recovered - he hadn’t exactly left a subtle trail behind. If the creature’s sense of smell was half as good as legend, there was nowhere he could hide.

He sat on the rim of the cavern and, seeing no other way, slid down into the darkness. The throat of the cave continued for several yards before dropping precipitously several dozen more yards into a pool of dark, stagnant water.

He felt the rush of icy water envelope him. He pulled himself to the surface and fumbled in the darkness until he found the shore. Groaning, he pulled himself onto the rocky slope and flopped backward. His hand absently reached for the fairy cross. At least it was still there.

“Some rescue attempt…” he groaned, lying back. He could feel his body feverishly attempting to repair the damage. He coughed lightly and sat up.

He gingerly prodded at the ragged flesh on his shoulder. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as it should have, not for the amount of damage. In fact, even though he healed quickly this close to the fairy realm, the injuries seemed to be mending an an unrealistic rate.

Then something rumbled.

Syth turned in the darkness, his eyes adjusting to the dimness around him - it wasn’t quite cave darkness, but close. Something rippled across the surface of the dark water, and an invisible form rose up from the gloom, moving across the black shimmer, leaving a trail behind it - a sizeable wake.

He drew back away from the water a bit more.

The form submerged again, and the water went still as glass.

Syth pulled himself further up the bank, dislodging a few pebbles, which dropped into the black water, sending small ripples across the dark expanse.

He heard crackling from behind him. He turned.

Nothing.

He gazed around.

There was nothing there save the darkness of the cavern and a large stone wall.

Crackle.

He felt a pinch, then turned again.

He drew the blades of his wings, and found them whole again, blades extended. He’d completely healed.

The crack popped again.

He turned again, his back toward the water.

And then it struck.

A tentacle wrapped around his leg before he could react, and his feet vanished from under him, plunging into the depths of the pool. He scrabbled at the edge, pulling and prying at whatever his narrow fingers could grab, but no luck. He slipped free of the shore and felt the water overwhelm him.

Then the bite came - it started as a strange pressure on his calf, then erupted into a burst of sharp, cutting agony that washed up his leg and back. A tentacle wrapped up around his knee and thigh. He pivoted, kicking down at the beast.

It was that thing again. It had plunged into the water and ambushed him down here somehow. One single, lamp-like eye gaze up at him from the darkness, passionless, indifferent, as if this were no different than crushing a roach.

It pulled him toward its broad mouth.

He growled around the water flooding him, attempting to smother him in its depths. He swept his wings back and out, trying to create a sort of parachute to slow his descent into the gloom. But the tentacles were pulling him deeper and deeper, the serpentine form drawing him into the gloaming morass.

He tried pulling back up and away from the beast, but to no avail, he was being drawn down into the depths. He growled around the stifling water as the beast’s beak closed down around his leg again. He felt a bone snap.

He wanted to scream, but it was as if every opening had been plugged by wet cotton balls.

Then the darkness slowly illuminated, and he found himself on dry ground.

Had he passed through the water, like when at Shasta? Had he parted through a subterranean lake to a series of tunnels?

The massive form bulged and coiled, its legs getting purchase in the now tight confines of the new tunnel, red with ambient, directionless light. It scrabbled on the ground before the surroundings suddenly vanished into a huge cloud of dense white-grey fog. Trees burst from the surroundings, cutting up through the layer of water and blasting it into the sky until it vanished from sight.

The creature was gone, having shot up into the sky with the arising of the trees.

He could hear it scrabbling and screeching from high above.

Then an axe the size of a small house whistled in from the darkness, splitting through several of the trees, which slowly sagged and crashed, cutting through the fog dramatically with a thunderous roar. Something high up in the darkness rumbled, and the axe popped slightly before vanishing up into the fog again. There was a scream-like cry, a splash of what appeared to be blood - copious amounts, and then silence.

The trees practically dripped with the dark, warm fluid. It clung to the haze, causing a strange red-brown gloom to descend over everything.

Then a tentacle, still twitching, flopped from the dark silence, thudding messily against the ground with a spray of gore.

Another thundering.

And a boot slammed into the ground beside Syth, the ground shaking so violently it knocked his knees out from under him, sprawling him to the ground as another spray flashed down around him, soaking the fog-clad ground with gouts of red.

 He covered himself with a wing, feeling chunks ping harmlessly off his shield, and when he lowered it, the boot, with attached leg the size of a redwood, vanished up into the shadows, only to thud down again somewhere far afield.

Syth shot up into the air, vanishing into the whirling clouds of white. He passed a long tail of what seemed to be the creature he’d battled, then sailed along behind it. It was following the thudding sounds of the giant.

He swept as quickly as he could fly, lost in the fog, barely seeing the outline of the creature far in front of him, just barely appearing in and out of the shadowy soup.

It outpaced him, leaving him hovering slightly in the tops of the fog-laden trees, his wings flapping slightly to keep him aloft. He gazed around, hearing the distant thunder and shrieks. There was a battle underway - one between titans.

He recalled Paul battling Babe in just such a realm, each growing larger and larger until the large man surrendered to his former companion’s vengeance. Was that occurring now? What was happening? Had that giant foot been Paul?

Something spun from the darkness. He couldn’t quite make it out, but before he knew it, a wall of flesh, the size of a tree, was staggering backwards, filling his vision. The fog burst aside like a wave, and it was all he could do to fly up and out of the way as a massive human stumbled past and thundered into a stand of trees. With a screech, a silent bolt shot from the same direction the large human had come, and the beaked, one-eyed creature shot forward, like an arrow from a bow, blood gushing from a half-dozen wounds, and vanished after the falling human.

Something crunched again.

He saw a cloud of red mist spray up from somewhere beyond, and heard a tearing wrench, like flesh being ripped. A body whipped through the darkness, nearly catching him again.

Then a face rose up from the shadows, pushing aside the fog.

“Paul!”

The form stopped momentarily, looking around.

“Here, Paul!”

The eyes turned toward him. “Syth?”

He nodded.

“Why are you here? The old witch trapped me.”

Paul was about to reach a mountain-sized hand to the tiny stone when a beaked snake with one eye shot forward, catching the large man in the shoulder and launching him back into the darkness. Blood sprayed from the wound, and the resounding crunch of their collision rumbled through the shadowy realm.

Tucking his wings to his side, Syth shot down through the dimness toward the carnage.

The shattered trees materialized, then vanished as he shot past them, looping here and there through the falling debris. A leg, a boot, he saw a massive swath of land and realized it was the broad fields of Paul’s pants. He landed somewhere near a massive pocket and rushed his way up and over the ravine that was his belt.

The ground shifted, and a sheer cliff wall of his shirt rose up above him.

Paul was getting to his feet again, axe in hand. Except he didn’t use it. He swung with a mighty fist, catching the beaked serpent in the face, smashing a bank of tentacles back into the creature’s gaping maw and sending it spinning off into the darkness.

“Paul!”

“Paul!”

No response.

The giant rose to his feet, and as a mighty mountain of a hand lowered to the thighs of his pants, pushing up to get leverage, Syth flapped away. Paul was growing larger and larger, and this strange beast he was battling seemed matched.

Syth shot upward, flapping higher and higher, trying to catch up with the broad, muscled back of the large man, but he was outpaced by just a few steps, and the man vanished into the roiling fog.

He flapped a few moments, shouting out “Paul!” but no answer.

Something the size of a small plane appeared from the shadows, its coiling form somehow propelling it etherically through the clouds. A serpentine form, large wings splitting from its back, large legs, powerfully muscled, dangling from below. But this time, it was bleeding - profusely. Blood poured down its beak. The one large eye was now hanging slightly, as if it had been grabbed and wrenched free. It flapped off into the darkness, making nary a sound.

Syth flew toward where Paul had vanished. Trees rose from the shadowy floor, giants in the darkness. He swooped around them, listening for the tell-tale sounds of the thundering man.

Nothing.

He tucked his wings and dove down, swooping in and around these goliaths.

Still nothing.

He padded his way to the forest floor, the mighty trees rising up around him, standing their dark vigil in the rolling mists.

“Paul!”

He nearly stumbled over a large channel.

A water-filled valley - no, a gouge - a large drag mark.

And it wasn’t filled with water.

He paused, poking lightly at the dark surface.

Blood.

A large tentacle flapped weakly in the watery surface, spraying a light glaze of blood as it did.

He continued up the valley, finally finding a boot the size of a mansion, and up its length, a pant leg, then a belt. As he continued to climb, he could feel the mountain, like a volcano about to erupt, slowly rise and fall. Paul was still alive, at least.

He scrabbled up his shirt, using the central stitching on his shirt - wide as a roadway - to maneuver up and over his belly and chest.

Finally, as he neared the shoulders, he took wing again, flapping up and past a beard as thick as a bamboo forest, each hair nearly as wide and as long as those voracious plants. He plopped down on Paul’s cheek, barely noticed.

The large man’s breathing was labored, and now Syth saw why. A huge wound had opened up on the side of the lumberjack’s neck, right beneath his massive beard, and blood was gushing out like a large waterfall.

“Paul, can you hear me?”

“Yes.” Came the rumbling response.

“Are you all right?”

“Big thing got me in the throat and just flew away.” The voice quivered through Syth.

“I can get you out of here.”

“Trapped,” Paul boomed again. “Can’t shrink anymore.”

Syth flapped away, flying up toward the massive bridge of Paul’s nose. It was the ledge of a cliff. Every scar was a valley, every dark blemish was a hill. Each stray hair was a sapling growing from the ground.

“We need to get back to the ring.”

“Can’t… amulet… gone.”

Syth flapped up to before Paul’s massive eye and held out the amulet. “Get to the ring. I can place this in your hand. Hurry, before you grow any larger!”

Something swept from the shadows, buzzing past Paul’s face, leaving a massive chasm across his cheek that gushed crimson.

“Hurry!”

Paul pulled himself upright. Syth held onto a stand of his hair as he was carried thundering through the mist.

The snakelike creature struck again and again, growing larger with every blow.

Paul staggered forward, ever stumbling through the shadowy realm toward the circle.

“I - I can’t tell…”

Syth swept down, scouting here and there, then flew back up “this way!”

The monster struck across Paul again.

Blood rained down below, and Syth watched as Paul’s proportions rippled to even greater heights.

“Paul!”

The man was nearly atop the portal now.

“Stop!” He shouted, flapping up toward the man’s ear and nearly shouting into the cave-like opening. Paul obeyed.

“Now, on my signal, hold out your hand and I’ll fly down to it!”

Paul nodded, his massive head rumbling like a boulder tumbling down a cliff. Syth shot down the length of his shoulder to the bunched up fabric of his shirt, which seemed more rolling hills now than anything. He continued, looping down toward the massive plains that made up his forearm. The entire massive range shifted as the creature struck again, somewhere far up the mountain’s face. The hand and arm twitched, creating a huge tidal wave of fabric and muscle, and more blood than could flow over the Niagara.

Syth latched onto a fingernail as it passed, gripping for dear life, wedging himself up and under the unkempt, ragged edge, pressing into the quick to keep from being launched.

“Now or never!”

He hoped Paul was touching the ring at least in some small way. He shoved the fairy cross into Paul’s flesh, hoping against hope this worked.

Just at that time, he felt an entire flow of muscle as Paul apparently connected with the attacker’s face, planting his mountain-range-sized fist into the creature’s maw.

The world shrank and twisted, the fog boiled away. Syth saw the massive expanse of the Pine Barrens stretching out below him, and as he looked up, he could see clearly now. Paul’s mighty fist had connected with the face and few remaining tentacles of the serpentine beast. It paused momentarily, as if its entire body was registering the mountain of force that had just been applied to its face. 

It was a drama in three acts. First, both groups began to shrink to normal size, the momentum of the punch finally registered in the face and body of the monster, and the energy sent it spinning off to the south with so much force, it nearly shaved the top of the nearby trees clean off.

Second, Paul and Syth landed in an unceremonious heap on the matted pine needle floor of a forest in New Jersey.

Third, a single antler dropped, landing heavily on the ground, swiftly dematerializing into a small cloud of quickly-dissipating orbs.

Syth pulled himself to his knees and scrambled over to Paul, who sat up against a rock, holding a hand against his bleeding neck.

“What happened?”

“I have no idea. Is this real?” Paul asked.

Syth looked around. “I think so.”

Paul held his hand tightly around his wound. “Wh-where are we?”

“New Jersey, Pine Barrens.”

“How did I get here? Where?” He coughed and tried to rise.

“Rest.”

Something shifted on the edge of the forest.

Syth rose, his wings stretching and bracing for an attack.

Marcellus stepped from the shadows, a look of shock plastered on his canine face. “What are you doing here?” He growled. “How?”

Syth stared in confusion.

“You’ve both been missing for days…”

They followed him to the cabin, where Raven was sitting next to a groggy Rip. His face was pale and gaunt, a dim, haunted look in his eyes Paul hadn’t seen since first finding him years earlier. “What happened?”

“Antlered serpent…” Rip muttered.

“Antlered serpent?” Syth asked.

“He trapped me… drained me… so… tired…” Rip muttered.

“Don’t fall asleep again, little human,” Marcellus warned.

“Rip, what happened?”

Paul stumbled to a chair. “Syth, any ideas what that thing was?”

Syth shook his head and rummaged in the drawer of the desk. He pulled out a small web of string and held it up. It had been tattered and ripped.

“A dream catcher?”

Syth nodded. “I think we were all trapped in a dream world - whatever got him in there drained him of his energy. Who knows what tortures it put him through.”

Paul flexed his hand. “Is that where we were? How long?”

Syth lay the useless dreamcatcher down on the desk, then pulled a book from his shelf. “That snake creature…”

“You saw it, too?” Rip said, leaning against Marcellus for strength.

“It tried to kill me.”

Rip held fingers up to his head. “Antlers, long and snakelike, swimming through the air?”

Syth shook his head. “No antlers.”

“Glowing eyes, breathed small orbs of light?”

“No… one glowing eye, yellowish in color.”

Paul frowned. “So what did you see?”

Rip looked around. “I saw a one-eyed serpent creature once, it was from my nightmares as a kinder - child.”

Syth rummaged on his shelf and found an old-looking tome. Gingerly, he slid it off the shelf and slowly opened it. He rifled the pages, “I knew of it, too.” He slid the book to Rip, pointing at the image. “This?”

The tentacle-faced beaked creature, with tentacle-covered mouth, and powerful legs hanging from a serpentine body set below a strange pair of almost birdlike wings, stared up at them. Beneath it lay the gorey remains of a mutilated cow. Its one eye glared dramatically at the viewer.

“Snallygaster,” Rip whispered, almost reverently. “I forgot the name.”

“You muttered it in your sleep.”

“I did?” Rip asked, looking up at them.

Paul nodded.

Syth showed Paul. “This is what you fought?”

“Yes, I never saw anything antlered.”

“Was it dark-colored, fading in and out of existence?”

“The snallygaster?” Syth replied, “no.”

“The other creature - the antlered snake.”

Syth shrugged, then turned to Rip.

“Yes.”

Marcellus folded his arms across his chest and gave a huff. “Dream parasite.”

“What? What’s that?”

“Cole warned you not to sleep while in the area of Salem, correct?”

Rip nodded.

“The moment you fell asleep for good, I saw a dark form fading out of existence, a strange glow like a wisp where its eye, or eyes, were.”

“You think?”

Marcellus nodded, “there are worse creatures than whatever that Snallygaster is. This antlered serpent feeds on dreams, trapping you in its realm. And it apparently followed us all the way back from Salem, I’d guess it’s working for that witch.”

“So we were all trapped?”

The dogman nodded. “Paul, I don’t know where you went, but then I found Syth sleeping. I came back later, and he was gone.”

“How do I know if we’re not still in a dream?” Paul asked.

“Was there anything obvious that was missing in that world.”

“My axe,” replied Paul, almost immediately.

“But I saw it!” Syth replied.

“I haven’t had it for days,” Paul replied. “I fought with my bare hands and whatever I could salvage.”

Syth thought for a moment. “I didn’t sink.”

Marcellus gazed at him.

“When I fell into the water beneath that cavern, I swam to the shore. That shouldn’t have been possible.”

“But how do we know the antlered serpent won’t come back?”

“Keep an eye on those traits. If they reappear, you’re in a dream. But I imagine it won’t be so bold to try the same trick again.”

“Let’s hope not.”

Paul flexed his hand. “Anyone want to address the fact that I brought the Snallygaster monster into reality with a punch? That’s not supposed to exist, right?”

Rip settled down on the ground. “It’s been in our world before,” he said, “legends exist from back to my childhood. We just brought it back again.”

Syth replaced the book on his shelf.

“But I saw an old woman with a house… it walked on chicken feet.”

“Baba Yaga?” Syth gazed over at him. “You saw her in your dream?”

“I believe so, or at least that antlered serpent’s interpretation of her.”

Syth examined his book. “Then that means these ancient beings know each other…” he swiped a few pages. “They might not know everything that’s going on right away… but I think they’ve been spying back and forth. Tell me more about your dream. I imagine that when they’re trying to deceive us, they may have accidentally shared too much…”

“She asked me what I was seeking, and specifically mentioned Spearfinger, asking if I had come seeking information.”

Syth pondered this for a moment. “So… this antlered serpent thinks we’d go to Baba Yaga for information on how to defeat Spearfinger… it appears we’ve seen behind the curtain. Tell me everything. I’m wondering if it was trying to find out how much we knew.”