The rear entrance of the hallway creaked open, revealing footsteps and muted conversations. One of the speakers was Cruit, while the other was a softer, more hushed voice, occasionally punctuated by a faint hiss.
The gorgon emerged first, her book tucked under one arm, her lenses slightly askew, as if she had been bending over someone. One of her snakes was still weaving in midair, looping around nothing.
Behind her, the princess.
She had changed out of the torn, filthy dress she'd been wearing since the cultists grabbed her. Shame. The whole captive princess look was working for her.
Someone had found her clothes. She wore a dark top that fit close through the waist, trousers tucked into boots that laced to the knee. A cloak, dark green, clasped at the throat with something brass. Her hair was braided. Not simply, but intricately, woven close to her scalp in a pattern that looped and crossed, feeding into a single thick braid down her back. The level of skill and dexterity required for such a task was beyond what human hands alone could achieve.
The gorgon returned to her corner. One of the snakes yawned.
Mags laid the map out on the bar.
"Here." She tapped a thick finger on a cluster of markings I couldn't read. "This is the southern road. You'll follow it for two days until it splits into a village called Sionnach. Take the left fork. The right one leads to a swamp that will swallow you and your horse."
"Left fork. Got it."
"From Sionnach, another day's ride to the tree line. That's where the Forbidden Forest starts. You'll know because the trees have bodies hanging from them."
"Fun."
"They are watching you. Once you're in, stay on the path. The forest will try to pull you off it. Sounds, lights, and smells. It'll show you things you want and things you're afraid of and it won't care which. Don't follow any of it. Don't leave the path. Don't trust your eyes."
"Don't trust my eyes. Great. What do I trust?"
"Each other." She looked at me. I didn't love the emphasis. She unfurled a smaller second map. "The lake is at the forest's center. Two days in if you don't get lost. Three if you do. The island moves, but it moves slow. You'll see it. You just have to get to it before it sees you and decides to drift."
"The island decides things?"
"Everything in that forest decides things. Pay attention." She neatly folded the two maps and inserted them into a leather container. She started rummaging behind the bar, taking out a bundle of dried meat and hard bread. She also pulled out a pouch containing something that smelled like herbs, two waterskins, and a small pouch that rattled.
"Coin," she said, placing it down. "Enough for lodging at Sionnach and one more stop after. Don't spend it on a drink. The road has thieves. It has worse than thieves. Don't travel after dark. Don't camp in the open. If someone offers you a ride, say no.”
"What if they seem nice?" I joked.
She ignored me. "You'll need a week, give or take. There and back. If you're not back in ten days I'll assume the forest ate you and divide your belongings among the staff."
"I don't have belongings."
"Then it'll be a short meeting."
Cruit took out a map from the leather container and studied it carefully.
"Sionnach is the first stop," she repeated to Mags. "Left fork at the split. The southern road will take us past the mill ruins if we keep pace. We should reach the tree line by the third evening if we leave at dawn, right?"
Mags nodded. "Good. You were listening."
"The coin... is it enough for two rooms at Sionnach or must we share?" When she said this, she glanced at me.
"It's enough for two."
"Wonderful."
"Seems like a waste," I said. "We could just share and save the money."
She glared. "I would sooner share a room with the Gorgon."
"The Gorgon that would turn you to stone? Yeah, that tracks."
"The forest hallucinations," Cruit resumed, shifting her attention back to Mags. "Are they drawn from memory or invention? If they present visions of one's past, there may be a way to anticipate—"
"They're not going to present visions of your past," I said. "It's a forest, not a therapist."
"I was not speaking to you."
"You were asking a stupid question, so I helped."
"You have helped nothing since the moment I met you," she huffed.
"I saved your life."
"A debatable claim at best."
"Both of you. Stop picking fights. You're going into a forest that feeds on exactly this." Mags rested her entire body weight on the counter with both of her hands. "Whatever is between you the forest will find it and it will use it. It will drive you apart and it will eat you one at a time. Alone, you don't stand a chance. Together, maybe. But together means trust. Real trust."
We were both sulking, avoiding each other's gaze.
"Can you do that?" Mags asked.
"Yes," Cruit replied, seeming reluctant. She crossed her arms and looked displeased.
Mags cast a hopeful glance in my direction.
"Yeah," I said. "Fine."
"Great." Mags pushed the pack over the bar. "Truly. I'm moved."
Cruit grabbed the map case made of leather and tucked it into her cloak. "I will manage. I have trusted those far less deserving than a liar before."
"Oh, so I'm a liar but I'm a more trustworthy liar than other liars? Is that a compliment?"
"It is an observation about the low quality of company I have been forced to keep."
"You're welcome."
"I was not thanking you," she huffed.
"Felt like a thank you."
"Then your comprehension is as lacking as your honesty."
Mags let out a long, heavy sigh.
An ogre named Brún offered us a horse.
He led us around the back to a small pen built against the cliff face. Inside was a brown mare, lean and tall, ears flicking.
"She's beautiful," Cruit said. "What's her name?"
Brún scratched his jaw. "Dunno. Don't name 'em."
"You don't name your horses?"
He looked at me, then the horse, then back at me.
"She's not a pet," he said.
I took a second. Then I looked at the pen. I noticed the one next to it, which was empty but had big gnaw marks on it. Back to the mare, chewing hay and unaware that she was on a menu.
"Oh."
Cruit and I shared a concerned glance.
"You want her or not? I've got two more in the back paddock. Won't miss one."
"Yep. Taking her. Right now." I grabbed the rope attached to the mare's halter and pulled her out of the pen faster than necessary. "Come on, girl. We're leaving. Don't look back."
The horse willingly followed us. Brun nonchalantly strolled back inside.
"I will lead," Cruit said. "I have ridden since I was four years old. I was given my first mare as a nameday gift and trained under the king's master of horse. I can ride in a gown, in armor, sidesaddle, astride, and bareback."
"Cool. Not happening though. I'm leading."
"On what grounds?"
"On the grounds that I said so."
She clenched her teeth. "Fine. Mount, then."
The horse towered over me, taller than I had imagined in the pen. I planted my foot in the saddle, which Mags had apparently acquired from a previous feast, and heaved myself up.
I slid right off the other side.
Cruit didn't say anything. She didn't have to. I could feel the emptiness of her words, louder than anything she could say.
I got up, brushed myself off and tried again. This time I managed to get one leg over before the mare shifted her weight, and I went sideways.
"The trick," Cruit said from behind me, examining her nails, "is to use one's legs."
"Stop being a smartass."
She shrugged.
I tried again. This time I was fully mounted. Both legs. Upright. Sitting. I was on a horse. I was doing it. How hard could it be to ride a horse?
The horse shifted and as if she was staring at something stuck to her hoof, she suddenly kicked me right off.
I landed on the ground.
Cruit burst into uncontrollable laughter. She tried to muffle it with her hand over her mouth, but it was pointless. Her shoulders heaved and her eyes sparkled as she laughed at me.
"Are you finished?" I spoke from the ground.
"Not quite." She kept going. "Would you like a third attempt or shall we accept the horse's verdict?"
I stood up. My back hurt, but my pride hurt even worse.
Cruit walked to the mare, put her hand on the horse's neck, murmured something I couldn't hear, put her foot in the stirrup, and swung up in one motion. The horse didn't move, didn't buck, and didn't even twitch. It just stood there, calm, as if an entirely different horse had thrown me into the dirt thirty seconds ago.
"Traitor," I told the horse.
Brún watched from the doorway. He gently bumped the ogre next to him, smaller and younger, but still huge, and he lumbered over.
He didn’t say anything before he picked me up. He just grabbed me under the arms and lifted. Like a kid. Like a toddler on a carnival ride. My feet dangled. He set me on the saddle behind Cruit with gentleness.
"There y'go," he said.
I sat behind the princess, my face hot, my dignity elsewhere.
Cruit adjusted the reins. "Comfortable?"
"Fine."
She made a clicking sound with her tongue, and the horse began moving. I acted quickly, clutching the saddle's rear with both hands. The ground sought to greet me once more.
"You will need to hold on," Cruit said.
"I am holding on."
"Yes, to the saddle. That will not do at pace. When the horse canters, you will slide. You will need to hold on to me."
"I'd rather fall."
"That can be arranged."
We made it about forty steps down the trail before the horse stepped on a root and jolted. I slid. Grabbed for the saddle. Missed. I grabbed her cloak at the last second and yanked myself forward, nearly pulling Cruit backward off the horse in the process.
She straightened up. She did not turn around, but I could hear satisfaction radiating from the back of her head like heat.
I had no choice but to hold on. I grabbed her cloak with both fists, making a point of it. I gripped the cloth, not her. I kept my hands wide and away from her body, as if I was handling something contaminated.
"Are you planning on holding on to my cloak throughout the entire journey?" She asked.
"Wouldn't want to get my filthy commoner hands on the royal person," I said. "Might leave a smudge."
"How considerate."
"I try. You know, being a liar and a peasant and all. Gotta know my place."
"You are being childish."
I stuck out my tongue at her in response, even though she couldn't see me.
The horse continued to walk. I clung to her cloak with both hands, maintaining a meticulous six-inch buffer zone between my chest and her back.