A single artificial light moves in the darkness of a network of tunnels one can easily get lost in. Two men, heads bent toward one another, shuffle onwards within the small, illuminated bubble. Both wear a strangely colorful tunic. But that’s where the similarities end. Driven on by spearpoint, they try to keep up with the large, pink, leathery tails in front of them.

  “I can’t believe it,” The Fool whispers, shaking his head. The light emanating from his appearance casts tall shadows on the cold, rocky walls around them.

  Julien glowers at his companion. “Do you find it that unlikely that I can survive on my own?” he hisses under his breath.

  “You call being captured by lizards surviving?” the Fool retorts, just as a long tongue passes through his image. The pink salamanders keep trying to assure themselves that the Fool is, in fact, walking among them, his lack of physical presence confusing.

  Julien gives him a look. “We are alive, aren’t we?”

  “Sure, sure. Anyway, that’s not what I meant.” The Fool sighs. “The Empress’ Garden, overrun by monsters. Poisonous bees and bloodsucking moths. The Pool of the Star, surrounded by flesh-eating plants. And this nymph...”

  “Dryad.”

  “Dryad,” the Fool corrects. “Calling herself Mistress of the Garden. What happened?” His shoulders droop. He shakes his head once again.

  Julien does not know what to say. He remembers the stained-glass window he uncovered in a beautiful pagoda he’d come across in the garden. The central frame of a golden-haired youth wearing a very familiar coloured tunic next to a regal woman, tiara on her head, and a scepter in her hand. He glances at the Fool, a suspicion slowly taking shape in his mind.

  “Tssrrrr, tssrrrr, tsssrrrr.”

  Julien whips his head around to see the leader of their captors baring her teeth. Her slender yet muscular frame trembles a little. The strange sound coming from her jaws reminds him of a rattlesnake.

  “Don’t like what your nest come to, Fool?” She makes the strange sound again, then turns towards Julien. “But you, Fool-warrior, you are more powerful than I thought. You faced Mother of the garden and survived. If I tell this to First Son, he will be most pleased with Rhaqasha.” Her head jerks quickly from left to right a few times as her eyes light up. “We double the pace!”

  She raises her head and launches another series of trills. Her companions prick Julien with their spears, prompting him into a jog and then a run.

  With a lizard’s tail to guide his direction and the Fool’s light to see obstacles, Julien is able to keep the pace for a while. The sound of his feet slapping against the rock fills the tunnels. He is surprised that the air, pleasantly cool, has a clean, fresh scent to it. Thankfully, it is not anything like the sewer catacombs where he had entered Tarotia.

  As they hurry on, they run through tunnels and past a multitude of caverns. Julien has no time to marvel at the sights. However, the glances reveal a mysterious and diverse world.

  This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

  One cavern holds a corner filled with various growths. Tall, white stalks with glowing tops emerge from a dark, mossy undergrowth, while yellowish creepers line the walls that sprout caps in all kinds of colors.

  The walls of another cavern sparkle in the light of the Fool’s presence – turquoise, blood-red, purples, pinks, and blues.

  Yet another cavern’s walls are riddled with veins that glint and glimmer.

  After a while, they blur together as a shadow of exhaustion takes the place of wonder. Julien’s lungs are protesting at the now frigid air being forced into them through a runny nose and a sore throat. Twice already, he has had to slow down. But this time, no amount of prodding can prompt Julien into the desired pace. Looks of contempt, angry trills, and raspy growls follow.

  Julien decides not to care. His legs tremble. They feel awkward and heavy. His chest aches, and his breathing comes in ragged gasps.

  During the forced break, Rhaqasha feeds him chewy strips of food that burn on the tongue and warm his insides. They replenish his energy, physical and magical, and keep the Fool at his side. Julien briefly entertains the question of their origin before deciding he would rather not know what lizard delicacies he might be consuming. As he grinds the jerky between his teeth, he tries to observe his captors.

  Rhaqasha is the only one who stands out. The others emulate the proud bearing of her triangular, scaly head, but with less of the commanding aura that she naturally exudes. A sudden thought comes to Julien. He looks at a lizard warrior and a salamander in turn, the way the Fool taught him to. With intent.

  “Slytar Warrior. One of the first, bipedal developmental stages of the Slytar race. Trained for armed combat. Want to know what the others are? Find them and I might know something about them.

  Slytar Juvenile with elemental focus earth-water. Your average lion-sized salamander. They’ve grown beyond mere hatchlings. They’re not that smart yet, though.

  Not long after they resume the torturous trek, a message flits in and out of Julien’s field of vision.

  “Constitution +1. Congrats. Maybe you’ll be able to keep up now!”

  The message is gone before it has a chance to sink in. Afterwards, he does notice that the forced breaks are less frequent.

  The first time they meet a small group of spear-carrying Slytar Warriors and pink, tongue-whipping Slytar Juveniles, Julien is surprised. He hardly notices the way the lizards clear the path in deference. As the encounters become more frequent, Julien begins to wonder about the treatment.

  He also starts to take note that the caverns they pass are larger. The walls of the tunnels are rounded, smooth, and glint as beads of liquid trickle downwards into narrow troughs running alongside them. A frequent dripping echoes. There seems to be no pattern, just an incessant drip, drip...drip.

  When they finally enter a cavern with stalagmites that are formed into sinuous serpentine shapes gazing upwards, Julien discovers the source of the sound. Stalactites, their sisters on the ceiling, mirror their shape. At the end of delicately chiseled forked tongues, moisture collects and drops down to be swallowed by the jaws beneath. Rhaqasha slows down. She calls out in trills and rasps.

  “We are here,” she announces.

  Julien looks around, shivering. In the absence of movement, the cold humidity cuts straight to the bone. There does not seem to be a lot going on. Just the stationary sets of serpents waiting patiently to lock jaws, and several tunnels opening into the cavern. “Is this it?”

  “Quiet, slow newt,” one of Rhaqasha’s soldiers hisses.

  The Slytar Juveniles lead them on towards an enormous stone serpent pairing in roughly the centre of the cavern. Their snouts nearly touch, and an endless stream of liquid flows from the top serpent to the bottom. The troupe halts in front of the imposing collector, and the salamanders incline their head. Rhaqasha and her companions follow suit. They trill softly.

  Suddenly, the pillar trembles. A doorway appears.

  Rhaqasha’s head jerks as she lifts it again. She trills to her companions and then turns to Julien.

  “Come Fool-Warrior. Come and enter the Great Mother’s domain.”