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He crosses his muscular arms over his broad chest and eyes me with contempt. “Hello, Priestess. I believe you owe my people a visit.”
“Yes. I had planned to do so,” I lie.
Creostus leans close. His eyebrows are thick and his thin wisp of a beard comes to a point beneath a wide, cruel smile. He smells like earth and sweat. “Of course you did.”
“All is in readiness, Most High. I shall take you to Philon now,” Gorgon calls, slipping into view, and I know she’s had a hand in this. She wants me to make the alliance no matter what.
“Yes, you see? We were on our way,” I say, flashing Gorgon a glance, which she ignores. She lowers the plank for us, keeping her eyes on the centaur.
Creostus allows Felicity and Ann to pass but cuts me off. He puts his face near my ear, his voice a harsh purr that raises gooseflesh on my neck. “Betray us, Priestess, and you’ll be sorry.”
As I board, Felicity pulls me aside. “Must we go with that overgrown goat?”
I sigh. “What choice do we have?”
“What if they mean to make the alliance now, before we’ve really had a chance to change anything?” Ann asks, and I know it’s her very existence she’s speaking of.
“It is only a discussion,” I tell them. “Nothing is decided yet. The magic is still ours for now.”
“Very well,” Felicity says. “But please, let’s not stay long. And I won’t sit near that Creostus. He’s vile.”
We sail the river, doing our best to ignore Creostus and his centaurs, who watch our every move as if we might jump ship. At last, Gorgon takes the familiar turn toward the home of the forest folk. A veil of shimmering water hides their island from view. The boat parts the curtain of it, and we pass through a fresh, cool mist that coats our skin with jeweled flecks, turning us into golden girls.
The haze lifts. The verdant shore of the forest folk slides into view, a thick green as inviting as a feather bed. As our massive ship anchors, several of the forest children stop their game and step forward to gape at the terrible wonder that is the gorgon. Gorgon is not charmed by their staring. She turns toward them and lets the snakes about her head stretch and hiss, their forked tongues quick whips of red among all the green. The children yelp and run for the cover of the trees.
“That wasn’t very kind of you,” I scold. I’m still angry that she’s betrayed our presence to Philon.
“Miscreants,” Gorgon says in her slithery voice. “No better than toads.”
“They’re only children.”
“I am unbothered by the maternal instinct,” she purrs. With that, the snakes settle into rest. The gorgon closes her eyes and speaks no more.
The floating lights that live in the forest beckon for us to follow. They lead us through tall trees that smell of Christmas morning. The spiciness makes my nose run. At last we reach the thatched-roof huts of the village. A woman the color of twilight plods past carrying buckets of glistening rainbow-hued water. She catches my eye, and quick as you please, she changes in appearance till I am staring at my own reflection.
“Gemma!” Ann cries.
“How did you do that?” I ask. It is odd to have two of me.
She smiles—my smile on another face!—and transforms once more, becoming an exact replica of Felicity, with the same full mouth and pale blond hair. Felicity is not amused. She picks up a rock and palms it.
“Stop that this instant or you’ll be sorry.”
The woman slides into her twilight self. With a sharp cackle, she hoists her glistening pails and walks away.
Philon greets us at the edge of the village. The creature is neither man nor woman but something in between, with a long, lean body and skin of dusky purple. Today Philon wears a coat of fat spring leaves. Their deep hue brings out the green in its wide, almond-shaped eyes.
“So you’ve come at last, Priestess. I had begun to think you’d forgotten us.”
“I hadn’t forgotten,” I mumble.
“I am glad to hear it, for we would hate to think you’d prove no kinder to us than the Order priestesses who came before you,” Philon says, exchanging glances with Creostus.
“I’ve come,” I say.
“Let’s not tarry here exchanging pleasantries,” Creostus snarls.
We follow Philon’s willowy, graceful form into the low thatched-roof hut where we first met. It is as I remember it: sumptuous pallets sit on a floor made of golden straw. The room holds four more centaurs and a half dozen forest folk. I do not see Asha or any of the Untouchables but perhaps they are on their way.
