Page 53 of Poison Nights & Twilight Alchemy

The woman burst into laughter, a high-pitched cackle that sent a chill along Reed’s spine, before falling into a coughing fit.

They waited for her coughs to subside. “There is no avoiding the darkness in the Rust Fields,” the crone replied. “Its canyons are so deep and narrow, sunlight has hardly a chance to wink down into its red dust before it’s swallowed up in shadow. And those foolish enough to believe they could pass along its surface soon find that their only choice is retreat or fall to their deaths.”

Footfalls at their back, Reed turned to discover a group of performers crowding around them. The little girls, Yunis and Thyme, held pitchers with carved stoppers and thin necks out to Dulce.

“We heard you’re passing through the Rust Fields,” Yunis chirped.

“Yes.” Dulce stood to face them, her determination leaving no room for argument, and Reed felt a swell of pride at her bravery.

With a nod from their mother, the girls handed over the pitchers. “We thought,” Thyme said. “That is, you will need this oil more than us. We can purchase all we need in the village. Once tickets begin to sell…”

Dulce pressed gold coins into their hands. “Please,” she insisted. “For all of your kindness.”

No one spoke much during breakfast, stealing sympathetic glances at Reed and Dulce as they ate. He was certain they were all sure they watched the condemned.

Afterward, Dulce excused herself to pore over her spell book and collect mysterious things from a nearby field, while Reed accepted amulets from the elderly of the troupe, trinkets they insisted kept evil away.

The fire jugglers sold Reed four of their ropes, the tallest one mournfully informing him, “We’re not sure how long the flames will last. We’ve never used them for longer than a few hours.”

They then instructed him how to best use the oil along their weighted ends. Reed overpaid them, but under the circumstances, it was only fitting. After today, they may not need coin ever again.

A few of the men offered to lather their horses in a clay, alum, and salt solution, explaining that this would act as a heat shield along their coats and tails. They also tied sacks of the same mixture to their saddles.

“I suggest you cover yourselves with it as well,” theman with long black hair told them as Dulce returned, having fashioned blindfolds from leather she attached across the animals’ bridles.

It was three hours past dawn by the time they departed from their new companions, and, looking like painted warriors about to enter battle, they crossed the valley and faced the Rust Fields alone.

Sweeping his gaze across the expansive waste as far as the eye could see, Reed reached for Dulce’s hand, reminiscing the night they’d spent together in the wagon once more, their easy conversation, the taste of her lips, the feel of her soft flesh against his hand, the sound of her moans.

“No regrets,” he said. “No matter what happens.”

She nodded, blinking back tears. “No regrets.”

The earth was dyed the rusty brown-orange of oxidized iron, its crevices like giant mud cracks. Reed believed he mirrored a small insect in a vast desert as they wound their way downward into the looming shadows of the canyon. Their map indicated in no uncertain terms that there was but a single passage through the Rust Fields, all others leading to death, no end to their twisted mazes.

“Luckily alchemists who traveled before us have lined our path with rocks painted in a photoluminescent coating,” Dulce pointed out as the first of a neat row of skull-sized stones came into view.

When the shadows deepened, the stones held a light of their own, glowing in the gathering darkness.

Reed peered at them. “They aren’t … skulls, are they?”

One of her black brows perfectly arched. “Do youreally want the answer to that question, Mr. Hawthorne?”

Reed thought about how many men would’ve had to die in order to line leagues of canyon floor with their bones and decided it was better to remain a mystery.

Movement along the sheer cliff caught his eye then, vanishing as he turned. Reed held his reins tighter, urging his horse closer to Dulce’s.

“Your spell book has answers to our fire problem, yes?” Though she’d told him creating fire would pose no significant hindrance to them. “Shouldn’tnowbe a good time to maybe, oh, I don’t know, implement said measures?”

Dulce seemed unbothered by the increasing movement around them, even as the unmistakable sounds of scratching echoed from above.

Reed refused to look, focusing instead on exuding calm for the sake of his horse, whose ears pinned when the animal’s gait moved from a walk to a trot.

“Ah, but fire still requires fuel,” she noted, leaning to unhook one of the jars from her saddle while she rode, lifting the length of rope soaked in a mysterious concoction she wore around her shoulders into her right hand. He mimicked her movements until he held his rope, prepared to light its end with hers and swing it above his head as they’d planned. “Alchemy and magic assist us, but if we aren’t careful, our fire will run out of fuel.”

He made the mistake of glancing to his right as blood-tinged sand fell in sheets from a ledge, to find a row of glowing eyes.

“It’s … rodents,” he said, frowning. “How dangerous can they really b—”

---