The alpha moved away from Jenny, sat down on its haunches, and stared at Bo. Then it jerked its head toward the tree in the valley, and let out a low, gruff woof. The other hounds formed a semicircle around Bo’s party, fencing them off from any retreat. The dogs didn’t appear to be hostile yet, but their intent was clear: Get down in the valley, and deal with those gnomes.
“The gnomes aren’t the problem,” Bo said. “It’s that stupid tree.”
The alpha narrowed its eyes. “Same.”
Bo wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Sure, right now, the weird tree was connected to every gnome dangling from its branches. But Bo wasn’t sure how that connection tied into why the ghost dogs were so intent on killing the gnomes. All he knew was that he couldn’t just indiscriminately start killing the little guys without endangering them all.
Including the dogs.
Because Whizdang would want vengeance when he found out why Bo popped his gnome buddies.
Bo exchanged glances with Jenny, and she gave him a little shrug. “I don’t think there’s anything we can do from up here,” she said.
“I’m not sure there’s anything we can do down there,” Bo replied. “But I guess we better try.”
“Anything that puts distance between us and these dogs is good with me,” Martin said. “They are creeping me out.”
Martin’s friends all murmured their agreement with that sentiment. Bo didn’t blame them at all. If he’d been on the wrong end of the ghost wolves’ snarls, he wouldn’t like them much either.
“All right,” Bo said to the alpha. “We’re moving out. Stay up here, don’t attract any attention. We need to figure out what’s happening here, and don’t need you riling up the tree.”
The alpha bobbed its head once, then curled up with its tail over its front paws to watch Bo from a more comfortable position. The other hounds took the unspoken communication to heart, and laid down flat on the ground, snouts resting on their paws. They watched Bo and his companions head down the steep slope into the valley, their expressions unchanging, eyes like silver sparks in the darkness.
There’s something very wrong with this tree. It’s not just one thing. It's many.
Bo wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, and he couldn’t exactly start a conversation with the devil. He tried just thinking at Barbie but received no response. The pitmaster didn’t know why he had to say the words for the devil to hear them, but he chalked it up to more Pure Friggin’ Magic.
Try as he might, Bo couldn’t get any system messages from examining the tree. Maybe he was too far away from its trunk, or maybe it had some kind of shielding magic that made it difficult to get a read on it. Or maybe there was something else going on that he didn’t understand, which seemed like the most likely truth.
From what Bo saw, the tree looked the same as any other oak tree, save for its enormous size and the wriggling, pumping roots that burrowed into the surrounding earth. Its color was off, too, though it was hard to tell beneath the silver glare of the moons whether that was a trick of the light. Whatever the cause, the tree’s bark looked wet and red, the color of cedar planks after a hard rain.
“Don’t step on any of the roots,” Bo said. “I don’t think the tree has eyes, but I bet touching it will get all the wrong kinds of attention.”
“How’s it going to feel anything through the roots?” Martin asked.
“The same way a spider can feel its web,” Jenny said. “Just listen to Bo. You’ll live a lot longer.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Martin said. “We all nearly ate it back in that town. Or the dog men nearly ate us.”
“Stop being a baby,” Jenny said. “We got out of there just fine.”
“By the skin of our teeth,” Martin said, and his friends rumbled their agreement. “We were surrounded, Jenny. We had fifty of those dog men ready to gut us like fish. If they hadn’t vanished when they did…”
Martin shuddered and shoved his hands into his front pockets. He looked down at the ground, obviously uncomfortable remembering how close he’d come to death.
Seeing the other man so rattled shook Bo. He’d known the Jenny had been running around causing trouble for the dog men, but he’d assumed they’d stayed ahead of the Anubites to make it easier for Bo to reach their boss. What the pitmaster interpreted from Martin’s story was that the plan had backfired, and they’d ended up trapped by angry dog men. If Bo had taken a few minutes longer to stop Gontar, Jenny, Martin, and the rest of the men would all be.
“I don’t know what happened back in town,” Bo said quietly. “But none of you are playing hero tonight. I brought you with me to get you away from the dogs in case this goes south. But I plan on doing all the heavy lifting.”
“And what, exactly, will that entail?” Jenny asked.
They’d reached the valley’s floor and found themselves surrounded by roots writhing across the ground. Some roots were as big around as Bo’s thigh. Others were no thicker than his pinky. They formed organic patterns across the ground that reminded Bo of the diagram of a human circulatory system he’d seen in high school. Big arteries branched off into smaller and smaller blood vessels.
More and more, Bo was sure that touching a root would alert the tree to their presence. Something he wanted to avoid until they absolutely had no chance. The less time the creepy plant had to react to their presence, the better off they’d be.
“Follow in my footsteps,” Bo said. “Single file. Don’t step anywhere I don’t.”
“Don’t you mean hoofsteps?” Martin asked with a grin.
“Hilarious,” Bo replied.
“Try to remember my legs are about half as long as yours,” Jenny said with a grin. “I really don’t want to jump from one foot step to the next.”
“Maybe I should carry you on my back,” Bo said.
“You’d like that too much,” Jenny said. “Get moving, big guy.”
The red tree’s crown spread out above them, growing denser as they advanced. It almost mirrored the pattern of the roots on the ground, and the branches cast eerie shadows that made it hard for Bo to see where he could safely position his feet. The limbs creaked and rubbed together like the legs of some enormous cricket, filling the air with a rasping whisper that made Bo’s hackles stand on end. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the sound was more than random noise. There was sense and rhythm to it, as if the sounds were syllables in a language he didn’t understand.
A hundred yards from the tree, Bo reached a point where the network of roots was so dense it prevented him from taking another step. There was simply no space for his hooves. While he wasn’t positive stomping on a root would force the tree to react, he couldn’t be sure it wouldn’t, either.
If he couldn’t go forward, that only left one path to reach the gnomes.
“Stay here,” Bo said. “I need to rescue that gnome up there.”
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“It’s thirty feet in the air,” Jenny said. “You’re going to fly up there?”
“Yes,” Bo said. “Don’t worry. I have a plan.”
“A plan that involves flying?” Martin asked.
“Yes,” Bo said. “You guys keep forgetting that I’m a magical deck champion. Flying is just one of my many talents.”
“Let’s say you fly up there to the gnome,” Jenny said. “What happens when you cut it loose?”
“That’s where you come in,” Bo said. “You’ll catch the little guy in your loving arms and tenderly cradle him. When he opens his eyes, our little gnome buddy will see your smiling, freckled face, and think you’re his mama.”
“I’m no one’s mama,” Jenny said. “Fine. We’ll catch a gnome. But we do if he’s hostile?”
“Chop him up for dog food,” Martin said. “That’ll get the hounds off our back.”
Bo frowned and shook his head. “Do not kill any gnomes. Use your zip ties to secure him if he acts up, Martin.”
“That sounds like a lot of trouble,” the man said. “You’re asking us to risk injury, or worse, to keep one of these evil twirps alive.
“First off, you don’t know they’re evil,” Bo said.
“They didn’t come here to live in our garden and fight trolls,” Jenny said. “I’m inclined to agree with Martin.”
She has a point. The gnomes were part of a harvesting team. If their focusing crystal had worked, they’d be as much trouble for you as the grunge elves will be soon.
Bo let out an exasperated sigh. He wanted to tell his friends to just listen to him, but knew that was the wrong way to handle this disagreement. They needed to understand what was really happening.
“Look,” Bo said. “These gnomes have powerful relatives, and we do not want to get on their bad side.”
“And how do you know that?” Jenny asked.
“Remember that time when I was dead?” Bo asked.
“You’re still sticking with the story that you died and came back?” Martin asked.
“Yes, because that’s what happened,” Bo said. “Anyway, I met a gnome when I was on the other side. His name is Whizdang, and he made me promise to rescue as many of the gnomes as I could. So we can’t kill them.”
“Those ghost dogs will be seriously pissed when they find out,” Jenny said.
“One problem at a time,” Bo said. “Look, we can’t stand around talking all night. Let’s do this.”
“Let’s see you fly,” Jenny said, dubiously.
“Watch and learn,” Bo said. “I’m full of ancient barbecue secrets.”
“Oh, now you’re a master of kung food?” Jenny asked.
“You better believe it,” Bo replied.
Please be careful. I am not ready to die again.
Bo equipped his cleaver and pulled Hog’s Hop in his initial drawfrom his deck. He cocked his arm back over his shoulder, activated the card, and hurled the cleaver at a wide branch ten yards above. The weapon struck the wood with a meaty, squelching noise, and stuck fast.
“Ew,” Jenny said. “That sounds gross.”
Bo soared toward his weapon. Its position beneath the tree limb made things more challenging than Bo had expected. His shoulder slammed into the branch, revealing that it was much softer than wood had any right to be.
It was also gruesomely squishy and appeared to be made of meat.
That surprised Bo so much he nearly fell. At the last possible second, he threw one arm up and over the branch. The pitmaster’s rubber gloves were too slick to cling to the meaty branch, so he grabbed his left wrist with his right hand to form a triangle around the tree’s limb. He dangled in that precarious position for a moment, then threw his legs up around the branch. Bo hooked one hoof over the other to hold position, then let himself rest for a second.
From his position, Bo saw that the tree limb didn’t have bark after all. It was covered in thick fibers, like bands of muscle. Blood oozed up between those bands and dripped down into Bo’s face, where it swiftly dried into sticky trails. The pitmaster turned his face to the side to keep the stuff out of his eyes and mouth and surveyed his position.
A gnome dangled from the meaty cord embedded in the top of its pointy head. The creature’s arms and legs were curled up tight against its body, which was surrounded by a translucent sack filled with some viscous fluid. The poor gnome reminded Bo of pictures he’d seen of unborn children floating in bags of amniotic fluid. Except most babies didn’t have full beards clotted with blood and other gory bits and bobs.
“Time to get you down, little guy,” Bo whispered.
He put his augmented strength to use and hauled himself up and around the tree limb. It was only a couple of feet wide, and slippery as all get out, but Bo found he could balance himself if he stayed flat on his butt and sort of scooted along.
Do not fall. And please, do not look down.
“Are you scared of heights, Barbie?” Bo asked.
I fear nothing. But I do not wish to fall. It would be unpleasant.
“It’s okay to admit you’re scared,” Bo said. “You don’t have to be ashamed of it. It’s not like you’re a warrior.”
You are a terrible person, Bo.
“I am not,” the pitmaster countered. “I’m up here rescuing a gnome. That makes me one of the good guys.”
Not if the gnome is evil.
“I guess we’ll find out about that,” Bo said. “Here we are.”
The pitmaster had stopped creeping along the branch directly above the gnome. A knot of fibrous tissue protruded from the limb’s side, and a thick, meaty cord emerged from the meaty lump. That pulsing cord led down to the bloody sac holding the gnome. Bo leaned over as far as he dared to get a closer look at the creature and saw that the cord was, in fact, embedded in the top of its head.
“So gross,” Bo said, looking away from the opening in the creature’s skull.
Something is very wrong with this thing. It is not just the gnomes. I can feel other presences. They’re all around us, Bo. We need to leave.
Bo hesitated for a moment. The panic in Barbie’s voice made his skin crawl. The demon wasn’t the bravest creature he’d ever met, but it went to great pains to mask its fear. Sensing the raw terror in its thoughts made Bo wonder if he’d made the right decision.
“Were already up here,” he argued. “I’m not leaving without a gnome.”
Bo re-equipped the cleaver, braced himself against the tree, and looked down to make sure Jenny and Martin were gathered below.
He saw his friend’s upturned faces, along with the rest of Martin’s people. They’d formed a small circle directly beneath Bo, and several of the men had removed their shirts. They’d tied the clothes together to form a makeshift life net to catch the gnome. That was a good idea, and Bo was glad someone had come up with it. He’d have to ask Martin what those men had done with their lives before becoming adventurers in a magical post-apocalypse wasteland. Maybe one of them had been a volunteer fireman.
“Look out below,” Bo called down to his friends.
Then, before he could doubt himself any further, Bo sliced through the sac surrounding the gnome. The cleaver easily cut through the skin, unleashing a torrent of red-tinged fluid that stank of rot.
“Damn you, Bo!” Jenny called in surprise.
“Sorry,” Bo called back as he freed the gnome from its fleshy container.
The gnome dangled from the umbilical cord embedded in the top of its skull. It was no longer asleep, but wasn’t fully awake yet, either. Its eyes were squeezed shut, and both of its pudgy hands groped at the cord connecting it to the tree. Its mouth opened and let loose a mewling cry that sent chills racing down Bo’s skin.
“Hang tight, little dude,” Bo said. He wanted to comfort the creature, at the same time as he was disgusted by it. The pitmaster wasn’t sure how to react to a little creature that looked like a baby, but was clearly something much different.
It took the pitmaster a minute to reposition himself. He wound up lying face down on the branch, his cheek pressed against its bloody surface. That let him hold the cord in his left hand on one side of the limb, while sawing on it with the cleaver on the other side. It wouldn’t pass any OSHA inspections, but his unorthodox safety plan would have to do.
It took several seconds to hack through the cord’s outer shell of silver skin, and Bo immediately wished he hadn’t.
He suddenly saw himself from above, and his viewpoint rapidly shot into the sky until the pitmaster was a tiny speck against the tree’s vast bulk. In his vision, Bo saw the massive tree’s root system extending through the world.
And it didn’t stop there. Tendrils of red extended in every direction, and as his vision expanded outward, Bo saw it stretched to the farthest reaches of space’s black void. It was everywhere, and it was everything. The tree’s reach dwarfed all of reality.
And it wanted Bo to join it, to become part of the great collective that had grown and stretched to reach every corner of the known universe. All he had to do was accept its embrace, and the tree would welcome into its collective spirit. He would never have to worry about anything, ever again.
Fight it! It’s a lie. We have to get off this tree now.
Bo didn’t have to be told to get the tree out of his head. Anything that tried to pry its way into his thoughts was evil, and the pitmaster wasn’t about to let this thing get the best of him. He pushed back against it, fighting the alien thoughts that tried to drag him down. He thought of all the things he was fighting for: Jenny, Martin, the camp, his sister, the memory of his old man.
That seemed to work. The tree’s invasive thoughts receded, leaving Bo to saw at the cord. It was slow going, though, and after five minutes, the pitmaster had only reached the halfway point.
And then the tree unleashed another, more insidious attack.
The gnome’s pudgy hands closed around Bo’s wrist. They held on tight, squeezing against the rubberized gloves that protected the pitmaster’s hands.
Bo tried to shake the thing loose, but its grip was too strong. It clambered up his arm in the blink of an eye and threw itself onto the branch so it could look into the pitmaster’s eyes.
The gnome opened its mouth, as if struggling for air. Its eyes opened, and Bo was surprised to find them a deep, warm brown. There was something familiar about the look the gnome gave him, but Bo couldn’t put his finger on it. When the creature exhaled, Bo caught a familiar scent of cigarettes and stale beer. And then a voice emerged from between the creature’s blue lips, and the words nearly knocked Bo off the tree.
“Hello, son,” the gnome said in Bo’s father’s voice. “I’ve got some things to tell you.”