Page 53 of A Serpent in the Garden

Not if he’s still stuck in a nightmare of his own.

Then I need to go back for him, back inside the mist.

You can’t go back for him, that isn’t how it works, It said, sounding as though he were forcing himself to be gentle. He has to make it out on his own if he’s stuck in whatever vision it’s showing him. If you stepped back through and looked, you wouldn’t find him.

But he knows it’s not real. He would be out by now if he wasn’t truly dead.

I’m sure the visions can be very convincing.

An ember of hope glowed at that. Okay. I sucked in a shaky breath, willing myself not to tremble. Then I’ll wait for him.

I waited for hours.

I ran the length of the black tunnel blind and gasping and doubled right back, expecting Serich’s corpse to have disappeared, but it hadn’t.

I waited at the back end of the tunnel, expecting at any moment to hear Serich groping his way toward me, calling my name, but he didn’t.

He’s dead, I said, when It insisted for the millionth time that he wasn’t. He’s gone. He’s lying there dead because of me.

Would you stop and think for a second? The wood can’t plumb your mind because of me. I’m sure the mist is no different. Think what it knows about you. All it knows is that there is a presence in you, that animals won’t touch you because of me, and that you’re traveling with a man. What would you do with that limited information, if you had to dream up a horrible vision to plague someone with? Think. It showed you the only thing it could.

If he’s not dead then where is he? He should have gotten out by now if he were alive.

Fine. I felt It throw up his hands. Fine. I’ll play. He’s dead. Now what? What will you do? Lay down and die with him? Give up? Go back through the mist to swim in that lake of insanity? What would you do? He allowed a gaping pause so I could answer, but I didn’t. Even if he is dead, he wouldn’t want you to wail and grieve right now. He would want you to keep moving. He wouldn’t want you to stall here in this tunnel and wind up dying, too. Maybe the wood knows he has no legitimate business here and spat him back out on the other side.

I sank to the earth, my face in my hands. I can’t just leave him if he’s stuck in there.

You can’t just wait, either. It’ll be dusk soon. You’ve wasted too much time already. There’s a creature in the stretch beyond the tunnel that I don’t want to run into. Will you make me force you? Or can I trust you to help save your own life? I can’t be the only one who cares if you live.

I got to my feet. I felt It exhale a long breath in my mind as I groped my way to the end of the tunnel, my pulse thudding resignedly at every pressure point in my body.

He’s not dead, Des.

You don’t know that for sure.

Faith isn’t just for God, you know. I have faith that I know my kind. We are eternal torturers, not killers. The Mother of Demons created the gold wood, and nothing in it would kill you. It’s meant to torture. You’re playing right into her hands. She would be smiling if she could see you. Is that what you want, to make the Mother of Demons happy?

“No.” I said it aloud and my voice shook, ringing in a clumsy echo through the tunnel.

Good. Then we’ll keep going.

It had said it was nearly dusk, but I couldn’t see how he knew that for sure. The land outside the tunnel was as bright as it was desolate, such a brilliant white-hot sky that I couldn’t imagine it in darkness. Would night fall upon me quickly like a curtain on a stage?

The world had been sapped of all color. There was the white sky and the black earth; there was me, in my mud-stained clothes, trudging through it all, like the lone survivor of a vicious blight. Nothing grew in this dead land. The ground looked scorched. Black rocks like jagged, crooked teeth lined the single path through it all. The best I could say for it was that it at least matched my mood.

I’m sure it’s part of the design, It said, reading my thoughts. Whiplash, after the gold wood. Keep your head. Remember that torture is the goal now. Suffering, not death. No suffering, do you hear me?

I kept swinging back and forth: Serich was dead. He couldn’t be dead. He was stuck in the mist for eternity. He’d made it out. He was dead even IF he made it out, being on his own. And every time my thoughts spiraled too far into despair, It would blast me with his horrific chill and tell me to knock it off. When I slowed my pace in the hope that Serich might be puffing along somewhere behind me, It sped me up. And when I put up a feeble effort to fight his compulsion, he took my choice from me entirely. Even alcerin had nothing on Its speed, and by the time the pallid sky darkened to the color of dishwater, we had made it to the end of the dead landscape and into another stretch of bleak gray wood.

Here. It splashed me through a stream just outside the tunnel separating this world from the last and brought me to a screeching halt. It forced my gaze on a slender opening at the base of a rock formation near the silent silver stream. The opening was so small it would be a wonder if I could shimmy into it.

You’re not exactly an ogre, It said. I fit inside this as a child when I was bigger than you. Feet first, it’s a deep recess. You can lay on your stomach. Get inside and block the opening with your bag.

I did as It instructed.

You need to eat something, It prompted, as I was stuffing my bag into the gap.

I’m not hungry.