The Sweet Far Thing (35 page)

“Creostus, do we ride or not?”

He brushes my body with his. “Desperate to be alone with me, are you?”

“I shall turn you into a ladybug. See if I won’t.”

With seemingly no effort at all, Creostus swoops me up onto his back. As we ride toward the forest, I clutch his waist for dear life. Whatever the reason for this visit, it can’t be good. Down below in the river, I see that Gorgon steams ahead, keeping pace with us.

No, this isn’t good at all.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

THERE IS A DIFFERENT AIR TO THE FOREST TODAY. THEcreatures do not loll about. The children do not play their games. Instead, they are hard at work. Some whittle wood into sharp points.

Others test crude crossbows. A hail of arrows screams over my head, making me duck. They find their targets in the soft bark of distant trees. Gorgon slides to the shore, and I run to her.

“Gorgon, what is the matter?”

“I cannot say, Most High. But there is trouble.”

Philon strides toward us in a magnificent coat of twigs and leaves with a high collar and sleeves that end in points near the tips of those long fingers. The catlike eyes narrow at the sight of me.

“You have betrayed us, Priestess.”

“What do you mean? Betrayed you? How?”

The forest folk gather around Philon. Some carry spears. Neela hops onto Creostus’s back, her lips curled in disgust.

“You have been seen at the Temple in secret talks with the Hajin,” Philon says, accusing me.

“I haven’t!” I protest.

Philon and Creostus share a glance. Is Philon tricking me? Is this a ruse or a test of some sort?

“Do you deny that you have paid visits to the Temple?”

I’ve been to see Circe, but I cannot tell them that.

“I have been to the Temple,” I say carefully. “That is where we shall join hands in alliance, is it not?”

Neela climbs onto a stump and crouches down. As she talks, her hair shimmers from blue to black and back again. “She will join with them and betray us for the Order! They will build the runes once again!”

she shouts. “While we toil here, the filthy Hajin reign over the poppy fields and we are forced to bargain for their crop.”

Discontent ripples through the assembly.

Neela smirks. “While Philon has us wait, the Hajin will enter into secret alliance with the Order. It will give them all the power. Things will be as they always have been, and once again, it is the forest folk who will suffer.”

“Nyim syatt!”
Philon thunders, but the forest folk’s leader is drowned out by the loud arguing of the
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

tribe. They shout, “What of our share?” and “Let us not be taken again!”

“How long before they come for our land? Before they take the little power we do have?” a centaur demands angrily.

Neela returns to Creostus’s back. “I say we fight! Let us force this priestess to join hands now.”

Philon prepares the leaf pipe. Those long, dusky fingers press the crumbled red petals down into the mouth of it. “What do you say to these charges, Priestess?”

“I gave you my word that I would honor your tribe, and I shall keep my promise.”

Neela appeals to the crowd. “Do you hear how smoothly she lies?”

“I am not lying!” I shout.

Creostus takes a stand behind me, blocking the path to escape. “I told you she could not be trusted, Philon. She’s one of them, and they will never part with the magic willingly. The Order.” Creostus sneers.

He paces as he speaks, as if addressing his soldiers. “I remember when the Order punished my family.

They stripped us of everything. Our fathers were banished to the Winterlands. The cold was too much for our kind. Those who did not die from the elements were taken by the creatures there. They were tortured and worse. A generation of centaurs was lost. We will not allow that to happen again. Never again.”

The centaurs beat their hooves against the ground and roar.

“They took my father from me. I will take two of their people for my honor.”

“Honor,” Gorgon hisses from the lagoon. “What do you know of it?”

Creostus sidles up to the giant beast at the head of the ship. “More than one who would be their lackey.

Have you told her how you betrayed your own people?”

“That is enough talk,” Gorgon growls.

“Philon, if the Hajin plot against us with the Order, we should strike while we still can, before they take everything from us,” Neela argues.

“The Hajin are peaceful,” I protest.

“They are traitors and cowards.” Neela nestles close to Philon. She takes a puff from the pipe and blows it into the creature’s mouth. “Why should those filthy diseased have all the poppies, Philon? Why should we need to barter for them?”

“It has been their right since the rebellion,” Philon answers.

“Because they sided with the Order. Now they plot against us! The Order will take what is ours and give it to the Untouchables! We will be left with nothing!”

“Do you have so little faith in me, Neela?” Philon’s eyes narrow.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

“You do not see clearly. You have too much faith in the girl. A battle for the realms has begun. They mean to destroy us. We must strike to defend ourselves.”

“They did not strike us first.”

Creostus bellows, “Have you forgotten what they did to us?”

More angry shouting erupts in the crowd, each fear more terrible than the last, till they’re frenzied. “They will take our land! They will kill our children! We must strike!”

An arrow splits the air above my head and skitters across the ground behind me.

“Nyim!”
Philon thunders. “We are not at war with the Hajin or the Order. Yet. As for you, Priestess, I will give you the benefit of the doubt. For now. But you must prove good faith to me.”

“How?”

Philon’s gaze is inscrutable. “I require an act of good faith. You said you could gift others with the magic.

Very well. I accept. Gift me so that I might hold magic of my own.”

I did say that, but now I am not so sure that I should have. “What will you do with it?” I ask.

Philon regards me coolly. “I do not ask what you do with yours.”

When I make no move, Creostus crosses his arms and smirks. “She hesitates. What further proof do you need?”

“The magic does not last for long,” I say, stalling. “What help will it be to you?”

“Because you put some enchantment upon it!” Creostus spits.

“No! I have no control over it.”

“We shall see.” Philon’s eyes are glassy. “Will you gift us? Or is it war?”

The forest folk wait for my answer. I’m not at all sure this is the best course, but what choice do I have?

If I don’t give them any, it’s war. If I do, there’s no telling how they might use the power.

But no one says I have to give them much.

I join hands briefly with Philon, and when I break away, the creature regards me with those cool eyes.

“And is that all, Priestess?”

“I told you I have no control over it,” I say.

Philon shakes my hand but whispers in my ear. “That is your first lie. Do not let there be a second.”

As I leave, Neela shouts after me. “You witches cannot be trusted! Soon, we will no longer live in your shadow!”

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Gorgon steers a course back to the garden. I perch beside her neck, listening to the gentle rhythm of the water sluicing against the ship’s enormous sides. Gorgon has said nothing since we left the forest.

“Gorgon, what was Creostus speaking about earlier?”

“It is nothing. Creostus knew me as a warrior.”

“But why do you choose to stay here in this prison?”

Gorgon’s voice deepens. “I have my reasons.”

I know this tone. It means the conversation will go nowhere. But I am not in a stopping humor. I wish to know more. “But you could be free—”

“No,” she says bitterly. “I will never be truly free. I do not deserve it.”

“Of course you do!”

The snakes nestle about her face, making it hard to see her eyes. “I am many things, Most High, not all of them noble.”

One of the snakes slithers close to me. Its thin pink tongue flicks against my skin. Instinctively, I pull my hand back, but its dangerous kiss lingers.

“We should not be speaking of the past but of the future of the realms.”

I sigh. “The tribes can’t even agree amongst themselves. How will they form an alliance when they are constantly fighting?”

“It is true they have fought always. But they may still be joined in a common cause. Discord need not be an impediment. Differences can bring strength.”

“I don’t see how. It makes my head hurt to hear them.” I stretch my arms and feel the river spray on my face, cool and sweet. “Oh, why can’t there be peace like this moment always?”

Gorgon glances sideways at me. The line of her mouth tightens. “Peace is not happenstance. It is a living fire that must be fed constantly. It must be tended with vigilance, else it dies out.”

“Why has this power come to me, Gorgon? I can scarcely govern myself. At times, I feel as if I could dance through the halls with happiness, and then, just as suddenly, my thoughts are dark and lost and frightening.”

“The question is not why, Most High. The question is what. What will you do with this power?”

We’ve come to a narrow strait bordered by mossy rocks. The water shines with iridescent scales. A school of water nymphs emerges from under the current. They’re exotic creatures, half mermaid, with bald heads, webbed fingers, and eyes that show the depths of the oceans. Their song is so lovely it can bewitch any mortal, and once they have you in thrall, they take your skin.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

I’ve had one encounter with those ladies and barely lived to tell it; I shan’t chance another.

“Gorgon,” I warn, moving to the nets that hang from the side of the ship.

“Yes, I see them,” Gorgon says.

But the nymphs make no move toward us. Instead, they dive under again, and I see the bow of their silvery backs as they swim away.

“That’s odd,” I say, watching them go.

“All is strange these days, Most High,” Gorgon answers, cryptic as ever.

I settle again at Gorgon’s neck. We’re nearing the Borderlands. The air is hazier here, and in the distance the sky is the color of lead.

“Gorgon, what do you know about the Winterlands?”

“Very little, and yet it is too much.”

“Do you know of something called the Tree of All Souls?”

Gorgon startles; the snakes hiss at the sudden movement.

“Where did you hear that name?” Gorgon asks.

“You do know of it! I want to know. Tell me!” I command, but Gorgon’s as still as stone. “Gorgon, you were once bound to tell only truth to the Order!”

Her lips pull back in a snarl. “Only moments ago, you reminded me of my freedom.”

“Please?”

She takes in a deep breath, lets it out slowly. “It is only a myth passed down through the generations.”

“Which states…?” I prompt.

“It is said that hidden within the Winterlands is a place of enormous power, a tree which holds great magic much like that of the Temple.”

“But if that’s so,” I argue, “why haven’t the Winterlands creatures made use of it to take over the realms?”

“Perhaps they cannot retrieve its power. Perhaps they were stopped by the seal of the runes or the Temple.” Gorgon slides her yellow eyes toward me. “Or perhaps it does not exist at all. For none that I know have seen it.”

“But what if it
does
exist? Shouldn’t we venture into the Winterlands and find out for ourselves?”

“No,” Gorgon hisses, “it’s forbidden.”