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Gorgon’s slithery voice is tinged with apprehension. “I have been to the Winterlands through a route my people once knew ages ago. I would show you what I have seen.”
“Take us,” I say, and we climb aboard.
I sit at the base of Gorgon’s thick neck, avoiding the snakes that hiss and writhe about her head. They venture too close at times, reminding me that even the most trusted of our allies have the power to maim. Kartik steers well clear of them. He stares at the strange, forbidding world ahead, for we are passing into the Winterlands. Green fog rolls in. The ship slips quietly down a narrow channel and into a cave. We pass under icy stalactites as long as a sea serpent’s teeth, and I recognize this place.
“I have seen Amar here,” I tell Kartik, and his face becomes grim.
“Here,” Gorgon says, slowing to a halt. “Just over there.”
She lowers the plank, and I wade through the few inches of stagnant water to the side of the cave, where something has washed up. It’s the water nymph who led me to Amar. Her lifeless eyes stare up at nothing.
“What has happened to her?” I ask. “Is it an illness?”
“Look closer,” Gorgon says.
I don’t want to touch her, but I do. Her skin is cold. Scales come off in my hands. They’re matted with dried blood. She has a wound—a deep red line at her neck.
“And you suspect the Winterlands creatures?” I ask.
Gorgon’s voice pulses in the cave. “This is greater than the Winterlands creatures. It is beyond my knowing.”
I close the nymph’s dull eyes so that she appears only to sleep.
“What would you have me do, Most High?” Gorgon asks.
“You’re asking me?”
“If you would lead, yes.”
If I would lead. Standing in this forsaken cave with the water nymph’s cold body so near and my friends so far, I must make a decision.
“I want to see more. I want to know. Can we travel farther?”
“As you wish.”
“You do not have to accompany me,” I say to Kartik. “I could return you to the camp first.”
“I will come,” he says. He checks the dagger in his boot.
“Most High,” Gorgon says. There is worry in her voice. “We have come this far without being detected. But I would not go farther without some protection. It might be wise to call upon your powers to aid us.”
“Agreed,” I say. “But I shall need to gift you, so that we might work our purpose together—”
“No,” Gorgon interrupts. “I would not hold the magic even for a moment.”
“I need you, Gorgon,” I say. “It requires all of us together.”
“I must not be freed,” Gorgon says. “As long as you understand this.”
“I understand,” I say. “We shall decide on an illusion and concentrate on only that one goal. Agreed?”
Kartik nods.
“Agreed,” Gorgon hisses.
I board the ship. I place one hand on Gorgon’s thick, scaly neck and the other on Kartik’s arm. The magic stretches between the three of us. I feel as if it is a wave I sit upon and I am not sucked under by it. We are united by purpose and we share the burden equally. I imagine the Viking ship we rode in the Winterlands—the tall sails, the oars. I imagine Kartik and myself as phantoms in tattered cloaks. Our hearts beat in rhythm. When I open my eyes, we have accomplished our task. Kartik and I appear as wraiths. Gorgon is like a statue, her snakes as still as marble.
“Gorgon?” I ask warily.
