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"Oh," I say ."I've come to ask your help."
Creostus interrupts. "Do not aid her, Philon. Do you remember what it has been like for us all these years?" Philon silences him with a glance. "Why should I help you, priestess?"
I have no ready answer for this."Because I've undone the seal on the magic. Order must be restored."
Laughing erupts among the centaurs. "Then let us be the ones to restore--and control it," one yells. The others cheer.
"But only the Order can bind the magic and rule the realms," Felicity says.
Philon speaks again. "That is the way it was for generations, but who is to say it must always be so? Power is fleeting. It shifts like sand."
There are more cheers from the others. A crowd has gathered. In addition to the centaurs, the creatures of light have grown to about one foot tall. They hover like overgrown fireflies.
"Would you rather Circe find it first?" I say. "Or the dark spirits of the Winterlands? If they control it, do you imagine they would be generous with you?"
Philon considers this. "The priestess has a point. You may come with me."
Creostus shouts after us. "Promise them nothing, Philon. Your loyalty is to your people first! Remember!"
Philon settles us in a grand hut and pours a goblet of red liquid. None is offered to us, which makes me trust the strange creature a
bit more. For if we were to eat or drink anything here, we would have to stay, as Pippa did. Philon swirls the liquid in the goblet and swallows it."I agree that the magic must be contained. It is too powerful this way. Some have never been exposed to its full force, and they are giddy with it. They want more and more. There is unrest. I am afraid they will enter into ill-advised alliances and doom us to enslavement. It is a threat to our ways."
"Then you will help me find the Temple?" I ask.
"And what will you promise us if we help you?" When I do not speak, Philon smirks. "Just as I thought. The Order isn't interested in sharing the power of the realms."
"The gorgon said you and the Order were allies once. "' "Yes," Philon says."Once. "The creature circles the room with an elegant, feline grace."The centaurs were their messengers; I, the weapons master. But after the rebellion, they kept the magic from us just as they did from all the others, though we had remained loyal. That was their thanks to us."
I do not know what to say to this. "Perhaps there was no other way. "The creature stares at me for a long moment till I'm forced to look away.
"They're not going to help us, Gemma. Let's be on our way," Felicity says.
Philon refills the goblet."I cannot tell you where to find the Temple, because in truth, I do not know where it is. But I can offer you something. Come with me."
We emerge into the foggy day again. Creostus stops the magnificent leader, speaking low in a language we cannot understand. But I do understand the anger in his voice, the wariness in his eyes each time he looks our way. Philon dismisses him with a curt "Nyim!"
"You cannot trust them, Philon," the centaur spits out. "Their promises are like glamour--in time, they fade."
Philon takes us into a low hut. The walls shimmer with an array of shining weaponry, some of which I've never seen. Silver lariats hang from hooks. Jeweled goblets and exquisitely wrought mirrors stand side by side.
"While the magic is loose, we are using it to return to the old ways. If we do not know the outcome, we must be prepared. You may take one weapon for your journey."
"These are all weapons?" I ask.
"With the right spell, anything can become a weapon, priestess."
There are so many. I don't know where to begin.
"Oh," Felicity gasps. She's found a featherlight bow and a quiver of silver- tipped arrows. "It seems the choice is made," Philon says, handing them to her. The arrows are well crafted but unremarkable save for the strange markings on the silver tips, a series of numbers, lines, and symbols I cannot begin to understand.
"What are these?" Felicity asks.
"That is the language of our elders."
"Magic arrows?" Ann asks, peering at the tips.
Felicity raises the bow and closes one eye against an imaginary target. "They are arrows, Ann. They shall work like any other."
