One by one, the travelers entered the pitch-black portal until only Passepout remained with Mad Monkey.
The chubby thespian hesitated.
"You are braver than you believe," the demigod encouraged.
"Is this shortcut dangerous?" Passepout asked.
"Of course not," the demigod replied, giving the heavyset thespian a push that sent him hurtling through the portal. "It is only through the land of the dead."
The last thing Passepout heard before the darkness enveloped him was the laughter of the demigod known as Mad Monkey.
Then all went black.
Chapter 17
"Well, it's about time," Shurleen reproved. "What took you so long?"
"I had to say good-bye to our most gracious host," Passepout responded, brushing past her to take his place at Volo's side.
"Well, if that's all of us," Volo observed, taking the lead, "onward, then."
The four travelers started walking farther into the darkness.
The darkness was of a strange quality. It was pitch black, as if one were buried alive, yet there seemed to be enough illumination so that they could see each other, as well as certain details of the passage around them.
The passage around them was also curious. At one point it seemed to be an infinite universe of darkness stretching out in all directions around the narrow path upon which they walked, dwarfing them in its infinity. At other times it seemed to close in on them as if it were a mine or a cave through some Underdark lair or mountain cavern, with the only space existing a hairbreadth above their heads and even less than that at their sides. It was both an agoraphobic's and a claustrophobic's nightmare at the same time.
Though none of the party had yet to see anything that might pose a threat, uneasiness pervaded their midst, a palpable fear of the unknown that seemed to be tightening its grip on them the farther they went.
"Remember," Volo reminded, "don't talk to anyone we come across."
"What is this place?" Shurleen asked, a none-too-slight tremor audible in her voice.
"Mad Monkey said it was the Land of the Dead," Passepout replied.
Shurleen shivered at the mention of the word "dead," and quickly grasped the hand of the person nearest her as a secondary reinforcement that she was not alone. Curtis looked down at his hand firmly grasped by the heiress, her lacquered nails reflecting the darkness while framed in the creamy whiteness of her pampered hands. His urge to pull away was overridden by his sense of the needs of his companion, no matter how disagreeable she could be.
Gradually, parts of the passing landscape became clearer as they passed. Exotic beasts, horned beings, and mindless husks that once might have walked among the living seemed to pass them by as if they were unaware of the travelers' presence.
"Who are they?" Shurleen whispered.
"Beings with whom we do not wish to speak," Curtis succinctly replied, urging her to move faster so their group would not become more stretched out.
After what seemed like hours of treading through the darkness, the group decided to rest for a few minutes to catch their breath.
"Mad Monkey didn't say anything about not stopping along the way, did he?" Volo queried of the rotund thespian.
"No," Passepout replied. "Stopping seemed to be all right as long as we didn't talk to anyone. I even remember he said we could observe what we wanted, though, quite frankly, I really haven't seen anything worth writing home about."
"Let's hope it stays that way," Curtis interjected. "I prefer boring and dull to dangerous and deadly any day."
"I wouldn't call the walking dead and fiends of the underworld boring and dull," Shurleen argued, without relinquishing her grip on Curtis's hand.
"Hey, if they don't bother us, we won't bother them, and that's fine by me," Curtis replied, beginning to enjoy the feeling of feminine digits between his rough-skinned fingers, calloused by the bristles of splintering ropes and abrasive surfaces.
Passepout saw a rocky, mushroom-like growth off to the side which he thought would make a good seat to rest his weary bulk, and decided to remove himself from the group to take advantage of it.
Eo, that feels good, Passepout thought, his thoughts beginning to drift as his body began to relax.
"Hi! Remember me?" a voice purred.
There, now sitting next to him, was the inviting figure of Shurleen dressed as she had been that night at the No Bull House, silken kimono open almost to the waist, her hair freshly scented with lotus blossom shampoo.
"I want you!" the voice purred.
Once again Passepout was at a loss for words, his desires and fragile ego riding a runaway mining car down a steep-sloped tunnel.
"Now!" the voice demanded.
"Hey, Passepout, time to get the lead out. We'd be burning daylight if there were any light to be had," called the voice of the master traveler.
Passepout was pulled back, jerking his head back toward Volo's voice. The rest of the group had taken to their feet and were preparing to leave… Shurleen included, now attired in the traveling clothes he seemed to recall she had been wearing when they entered the portal.
But if she's over there, then who's over here? the chubby thespian thought. He turned his head back to the source of the amorous purring, but nothing was there now, not even the lingering scent of lotus blossom shampoo.
Passepout got to his feet and rejoined the group.
Oh, well, he thought to himself, at least I didn't talk to her. That would probably have been a bad thing. I think I'll stick to the path with the others from now on.
With a quick glance back at where he had been sitting, a quick thought of regret at what might have been, followed by a quick thought of terror at what really might have been, he proceeded with the others down the path.
"You know," Passepout declared, "I think it's probably a good idea for us to stay on the path, and not wander too far to the sides, and, above all, remember not to talk to strangers."
"Good advice, well said," Volo agreed, wondering what had instigated the advisory recap from the young thespian, but then quickly returning to the matters at hand.
"Onward," he urged. "Mad Monkey assured us that there would be a light at the end of this tunnel. We just haven't reached it yet."
"And remember," Passepout interrupted, once again with a warning tone, "sometimes the darkness plays tricks on the mind. There's no telling what you might see-or at least think you see."
Volo did a double take at his overly cautious companion, shook his head, and pressed on.
The path began to wind more, and the sights became more bizarre. They saw an ashen tapestry of what appeared to be crying mouths, hanging from a spear, frozen in mid-decay as if to have been preserved at precisely the moment before total disintegration occurred. Maniacal laughter could be heard from the shadows, though the source of the jocularity was noticeably absent.
Farther on, they came upon a rubbled site, as if an entire palace had been destroyed. The wreckage from the site seemed to have been made of bone and human flesh, both now reduced to shards and tatters.
"The bone palace of Cyric has been destroyed," Volo whispered. There were rumors of this among the Lords of Waterdeep and the College of War Wizards, but I never thought I would ever actually see it, at least not while I was still alive."
"Wasn't Cyric the God of Strife and Lord of the Dead?" Curtis asked. "Who could have done this?"
"Even the mad Prince of Lies himself has powerful enemies," Volo replied.
Much farther down the winding path, Volo halted the group.
"Listen!" he whispered urgently.
A steady murmuring of a single monotonous voice could be heard in the distance.