"Welcome to the Black Metal Realm," Fiora repeated. She was pointing towards the dead lands on the other side of the strange curtain of fog. "A land known for bathory bats and Venom blood rain. Living so close to Blayre has made its ruler, the Black Hearted Sorcerer Allard go completely insane inside his Venom Keep. He and his minions wear their corpse paint, eternally ready for death and destruction. This is the land where all hope is lost."

  Kim liked the sound of that. Only seconds before Fiora had been saying that the Black Metal Realm was the place where "Everyone who enters dies," so losing hope was an improvement. Besides, if she saw one more flower or perfectly coiffed wizard, she might scream.

  "I'd rather lose hope than lose my life," Damon said.

  "Great minds think alike," Kim said.

  He chuckled. It was a kind chuckle, and she realized it might be a chuckle that she didn't mind hearing. She'd sometimes found other people's laughter off-putting, either too high or too low-pitched or too mocking. Kim had broken up with The Ex-Boyfriend Who Had A Laugh That Reminded Her Of Sparrows. Sparrows were creepy. For some reason, Damon blushed. Man, he blushes a lot, Kim thought.

  "I wasn't clear enough," Fiora replied. "First you lose hope, then you die a horrible, horrific death. Everyone I've known who has entered this realm has died."

  Damon lifted his hand, but without waiting for Fiora to give him permission to speak, he asked, "So how many people do you know who died here?"

  "Just one," Fiora said. "D'yer the Crooked. She grabbed her chest and collapsed the moment she crossed the Black Metal Realm barrier."

  "And how old was D'yer?" Kim asked.

  "One hundred and nine years old," Fiora replied. Then she sighed. "Fine! Perhaps not everyone who enters dies. It may have been her heart. Besides, she died all the time and came back. That's why we called her D'yer. Anyway, that was her last death."

  Kim lifted the bag, surprised that it now felt empty. "Blayre called this the Bag of Ultimate Rock Surprises. Should we look inside? There may be something helpful that scares away ghosts. Or darkness. Or Black Metal."

  Fiora shook her head. "It'll contain something stupid. We can store snakes or poisoned plants in it." She looked down at Kim's feet. "Rockin' boots."

  Kim followed her gaze. "Thanks, they are Destruction—"

  "Destroyer Boots Of Major Metal Destruction," Damon interrupted.

  "That's their name. Damon helped me figure out how to put them on and—"

  "Enough about your boots!" Fiora said. "Next you'll be talking about your hair again." She pointed at the curtain of grey ice fog. "One of us has to step beyond Rothland and enter the Black Metal Realm.

  "Rothland?" Damon said. "As in David Lee Roth land?"

  "I do not know who that is," Fiora said. "Roth was a great mage divo with legendary blond hair and amazing chest hair. He vanished while on a quest for the perfect beach. Anyway, life goes on without him. Before leaving, though he had gained enough power to name the land after himself. Before that it was Axleland and also Geneland, who was Blayre's father. Now that wizard took all of the attention and licked it up. But he saved us all from destruction at the hands of D?s-K? as I've mentioned before. He also was always disappointed in Blayre. Enough history! There is one more thing to consider. These necklaces shackle us to Blayre."

  "He said our heads would explode if we took them off," Kim said.

  "Yes," Fiora said. "He finds exploding body parts hysterically humourous. But he dreamed up even worse endings: I saw him take his jester, Lord Garn?t Dubrow of Dubrowham, and fold him into a little black ball of sentient sarcasm. He then threw that ball into a neitherworld between the walls of Blayre Keep. Dubrow, to this day, catches ghost spiders and astral crabs and taunts them with bad jokes. Forever. Sometimes Blayre even sends his hairdressers into that sarcastic place. No one escapes. So, my very educated and very metal guess is that if we turn away from his task, our brainpans will melt." She spat. "There's no sense in waiting around for that. Which one of you is going to go first?"

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  "I will." Damon raised his staff high and stuck out his chest. Without hesitating, he stepped through the wall of ice fog and lost all color as if he had walked into a black and white movie. His skin was light grey. His hair darker. Even his eyes were grey.

  "Hey, it's breathable air here!" Damon said.

  Kim went through the shimmering grey fog curtain. It chilled her. At the same moment, she heard a ragged, rough bassy sound in her ears and a voice that rumbled out the words, 'welcome to hell'. The hair on her arms and the back of her neck rose a little and then lowered. It was never good to be reminded of how much hair she had on her arms. It wasn't a forest, especially compared to many men, but it always felt like a patriarchy spotlight was shining on her arm hair. When she was through the curtain, her hairs dropped and the humming song ended.

  "I suppose you heard the song as you came through?" she said.

  "Yep," Damon answered. "It sounded like Venom."

  "The Black Hearted Sorcerer Allard likes raspy songs," Fiora said.

  There were no colors in the Black Metal Realm. Everything was a shade of grey or black. Even her skin, her tunic and her arm hairs. Stop thinking about your arm hairs, she told herself.

  "Let us rock on." Fiora marched off without waiting to see if they followed.

  They followed. The landscape was very empty and so grey, if she weren't breathing oxygen, Kim might think she was on the moon. After they'd trundled ahead for several minutes, she looked back to discover that she couldn't see into Rothland. The magic wall had become a veil of grey distortion.

  "It seems like there's not a single living thing here," Damon said. "That's a good thing, right? If nothing is living, then there's nothing to kill us."

  "Ah, the mind of a simpleton is a wonder," Fiora said from a few feet ahead. "There are also many ways to die that don't involve living creatures tearing us to pieces. But don't let me frighten you with tales of blood-spurt coughing, black sabbath breath, killchain choking or the eye jelly disease. Let us rejoice in being further away from Blayre." Fiora had what passed for a joyful look on her face. Perhaps snouts and sharp teeth made it harder to express happiness. "This place reminds me of a poem my mom taught me."

  "Your mother was a poet?" Damon was using his staff as a walking stick. "Mine too."

  "No, my mother was a winged assassin for the long-lost queen Doro of Warlock Grove. But she enjoyed poetry almost as much as killing."

  "She sounds sweet," Kim said.

  "I know you are expressing sarcasm, but she had her moments," Fiora said. "The poem was:

  'Sky above: die.

  Ground below: die.

  All around: die.'"

  "That might be a haiku," Damon said. "What did it mean?"

  "That death can come from every direction. She said it again as she died."

  "You said earlier that she burned to… to death," Kim said. "How is that possible? I mean, she was a dragonspawn."

  "She chose it," Fiora said, and there might have been a wistful tone to her voice. "She and I and my younger brothers were surrounded by war pigs. And to save us, she shoved my brothers into my arms and went supernova."

  "Supernova?" Damon asked.

  "Yes, she used all of her lifetime of flame at once, sacrificing herself and killing most of the war pigs while we fled. So, never say a bad word about my mother."

  "She sounds like a hero," Kim said.

  "I told you not to say bad things. She wasn't a hero. But she had her moments. And if we want to have any more moments, you had better keep your eyes open. Look up." She looked up, and they all followed. There was a sun in the sky with a grey circle of clouds. "Look down." They followed her directions, staring at the shattered grey rocks. "And look all around. And keep repeating that motion."

  They walked along, heads swivelling up and down and around, and were rewarded with more grey vistas and tiresome trudging across grey rocks. Damon pointed to the sky at one point.

  "There really are two moons," he said. They were dim outlines compared to the bright, colourless sun.

  "Yes, one is made of metal and the other is hard rock. One is Metal Moon and the other is called Hard Rock Moon. Some believe all of our rock and metal power comes from the moons."

  "They are impressive," Damon said. He continued to scan the surrounding area. "Maybe nothing died here. Maybe life couldn't take hold."

  "Things die here," Fiora said. "I can smell it."

  Kim sniffed, but there was no scent to show that anything other than rocks existed here. It was again what she imagined the moon would smell like, well, if you could smell the moon. Except she knew the vacuum of space would suck up your last breath, and the spit on your tongue would boil away. She was certain oxygen would be needed to smell something, too.

  "Stop sniffing," Fiora said. "I do the sniffing." "Okay," Kim said. "Sniff away."

  "You keep saying this word, 'okay,'" Fiora said. "Does that mean you agree?"

  "Yes," Damon said. "It's an agreement. But it can also be used in a positive sense if you are replying to an inquiry about your health."

  "I never inquire about health," Fiora said rather proudly. "I just poke my companion to see if they can still bleed. If so, they are alive."

  "You must be fun at birthday parties," Kim said.

  "I rock with fun," Fiora replied. That scaly smile appeared, and for a moment, Kim thought maybe a bond was forming between them.

  That was the very moment that Fiora suddenly shrunk down to half her height.

  "Oh, I forgot to look for death from below," Fiora said.