The Sweet Far Thing

“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.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

THERE IS A DIFFERENT AIR TO THE FOREST TODAY. THE creatures 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 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?”