Trees sprouted up in the middle of streets, lanterns dangling off their branches with fireflies glowing within the glass. The stumpy, ramshackle cottages clustered together like toadstools, decorative wreaths of moss and thorns hanging on their doors. Ivy crept along each building as if the earth was trying to swallow the town whole.
If Sycomore was a bit strange, the people were outrageous. Even Viola, covered head-to-toe in gold pins, didn’t stand out much. They wore long cloaks of fur or tweed. Feathered hats, pointy hats, flat hats. Shoes ranging from thigh-high boots to delicate glass slippers. Their features, too, varied widely, with skin in a range of shades different from Barclay’s ruddy pale or Viola’s light brown. Though most were bundled up for Winter, golden tattoos still peeked out from people’s skin, writhing and moving much like Barclay’s own.
And everywhere—on people’s shoulders, poking at windows, playing on chimneys, climbing trees, flying overhead—were Beasts.
A scurry of chipmunks, with tails of thorns and bramble, darted in circles around Barclay’s feet. Beehives crystallized in ice bobbed on a few of the trees and tolled like bells as the wind rocked them back and forth. Up ahead, a Beast like a giant moose with golden antlers had fallen asleep in the center of the road, forcing pedestrians to walk around it. Barclay even passed a man carrying a shovel and a bucket whose sole job seemed to be cleaning up droppings along the streets.
Barclay and Viola had not been very friendly since the incident with the Styerwurm, but nevertheless, Barclay still shrunk behind her as they walked, clutching his Beast-warding charm, which—as per usual—seemed to do nothing to keep the Beasts away.
“This is Sycomore,” Viola explained. “It’s the largest Lore town within the Woods, and it has everything you need. There are apothecaries, Beast kennels, trinket shops, Lore doctors, and one of the six locations of the Guild.”
“Where do I need to go to remove my Mark?” Barclay asked. “To a doctor?”
“To the Guild. But I should probably come with you—it can be confusing here.”
“Great. Then let’s go.” The sooner they found someone to help him, the sooner his problem would be fixed and he could go home.
“I have errands to run first,” Viola told him.
“For what? More ingredients for your trap for Gravaldor?”
He hoped that wasn’t the case and that Viola had changed her mind. If Viola had accidentally gotten herself swallowed by a Prime class Beast, then how would she best a Legendary one?
“No,” she sighed. “I’d need the Mourningtide Morel, but it’s impossible to find after the first snow. My only other chance is Midwinter, which isn’t for a few weeks. And if I’m going to stay in Sycomore for a while, I’ll need supplies.”
If she was going to stay in Sycomore for a while, she had time—Barclay didn’t. But she was already marching into one of the closest stores. Its windows glittered with gold, and its sign was written in a script Barclay didn’t recognize. The symbols were jagged and hooked like the curls of a claw. After a moment examining it, Barclay realized with a start that he could read it. The Draconis Emporium.
The bells over the door chimed as Barclay followed Viola inside, resolving to ask her about the mysterious script.
But no sooner had he entered than he came face-to-face with a mouthful of vicious teeth, directly at eye level. He yelped and jumped back, and the shop filled with the chuckles and titters of other customers. A giant skeleton of a dragon, nearly fifty feet long, hung from the shop’s ceiling. Its skull and open jaws dangled right in front of the door.
Barclay stooped low to avoid it and wove through the maze of flame repellents, shiny objects, and enchanted dragon scales until he found Viola. She peered into a pot of reptile treats.
“Why can I read the language outside?” His gaze wandered down to the sign beside the treat container, written in the same craggy symbols. It read Vegetarian, and he was not the least bit surprised that most of the other pots beside it read Carnivore. Clearly, some dragons were just as ferocious as he’d heard.
“It’s Lore-speak. Everyone who’s bonded with a Beast can read it, just like all Lore Keepers can understand each other, even if we’re from all over the world.” Viola shoveled a few treats into a burlap pouch. “Haven’t you wondered why you haven’t heard me make any more mistakes? It’s because I haven’t been talking in Woods-speak anymore. Admittedly, I