10: Loyalty

My forehead pressed into the side of the stone staircase for a few long seconds before I picked myself up, sniffling, wiping my eyes, trying not to think about what I'd just seen. How I'd just seen it.

I had demon's blood in me. My father was a demon. And that meant Mom...

Did she know? Had she been here? Or had I been conceived in some one night stand, where he was gone by morning and they never met again? And had she heard me, just now, just before I'd been thrust back into the Mid? She'd said my name. Her lips had formed "Tay" as if she'd known. Maybe this place was the reason why she never liked looking at my monstrous sculptures and makeup designs. Maybe, I thought with a guilty conscious, I shouldn't have tried scaring her so many times.

But now wasn't the time for regrets and questions. I'd been given a chance and only one, and a nagging feeling crept in that I'd be a lot safer in the forest than I was anywhere on castle grounds. On homesteads,  you understood that the forest was a wild entity, that it had a life of its own, that it breathed and hurt and raged, that it could snuff you out in an instant. If you didn't, you died, simple as that. While Mom's homestead was a bit more connected than some of the ones in the far north, I still felt more comfortable with tangled roots and creaking limbs than I did in a populated, walled-in castle. The monsters out there couldn't be any worse than the ones in here.

Wary of another pop-up vision, I spiraled down what seemed a thousand steps and a hundred flickering torches, until the winding tower ended at a wide hall with a warm breeze. The right wall opened every several feet into crumbling, arched windows and viewing points of some kind of crowded marketplace. After checking to see if I was followed, I stopped at one such vantage point, braced my aching fingers against the rock, and observed the chaos from two stories high.

Vendors hawked their wares beside colorful tents and overflowing tables. Jewelry, weaponry, scarves, fine fabrics, trinkets, pots, spices and herbs and hanging meats—anything you wanted you could find here. Here and there I recognized the faces of men from the Hunt's party; they were generally better dressed, cleaner, handsomer, and against the poorer crowded they appeared as giants among men.

Demons among demons, I corrected myself, as a ring-nosed Minotaur kicked a chubby, sheepish peddler into a stall of exotic fruits. More than one bystander stole the rolling produce as the fat man struggled to his feet. The Minotaur bellowed laughter in thick snorts, squashed what looked like a cross between an eggplant and a watermelon, and stamped away. Since arriving I hadn't felt hungry, but the act of eating: my body wanted to chew something, it wanted to drink, it wanted everything to carry on as if a sword hadn't skewered me.

I watched the spectacle clear before turning my attention onto the other vendors. Knowing where I planned to go made it a lot easier to act like I knew what I was doing when I joined the the marketplace. "A lady makes her own way." Yeah. Because that would help me buy clothes and a weapon without any money. Or bones, or feathers, or whatever these people traded with.

After observing their interactions for several minutes, I settled on an old woman with a hunched back and cane. She wore a lavish ballgown that scrunched in an odd way over her body. Several very human women came in and out of her tent with friendly smiles and bundles of clothes. She seemed to be the one most likely to show a bit of sympathy for my cause. Next, I assessed the weapons dealers, but none of them looked kinder than any other. The one beside the old woman's stall—manned by a thick-armed, trollish fellow—would do.

And finally, a butcher. Again, none of the bloody aprons looked friendlier than the next, and I figured I'd just try them all if I had to.

A weapon, clothes, and food. I could survive a night on that.

"What did our King say?" Akta's voice was a frightening hiss in my ear. He rested an elbow on the window frame. Distracted by the vendors, I hadn't heard his sandaled feet approach. Dressed in loose white robes cinched by a belt, he was a breath of fresh air in the dingy castle. A crown of laurels rested in his hair, and he seemed a glorious, young Roman emperor, relaxing beside me.

I just knew it was all a lie.

"Would you believe any word I said?" I asked him, turning my face back toward the market; if I faced him, we'd be touching more than I wanted to.

"I believe that if he'd said no, you'd be creeping down this hall like a rat."

"Is that why you're here? So you could be the first cat to pounce?"

His handsome face contorted. "Don't compare me to those animals."

"I'm going to compete in the Hunt, so those hooves of yours can't come anywhere near me until then." I knew I'd said the wrong words as soon as they'd left my mouth. Akta took it for the challenge it was, stepping behind me before I could get away. His hands caught my shoulders.

"You mean like this?" He bent slightly, long fingers massaging my shoulders, and whispered in my hair. "I won't hurt you, not a stone's throw from the king. But I wonder where are you sleeping tonight, half-breed? It doesn't matter, because it won't be safe enough to keep you from me."

And just like that his hands were gone and he was whistling down the hall. I let out a shaky breath and released the fist I'd made. I had to get out of here, and I had to leave before he figured out where I'd gone.

*

I followed Akta from a distance, until he disappeared behind a thick oak door near a set of stairs, the latter of which led me to the first floor, and then to the market itself. From above, I'd gotten the sense that size mattered to some extent, and as I cut between curious and hardened folk, I realized just how small I was. But knowing the old woman's stall location made for an easier time of navigating, and it meant I didn't have to stop and ask someone for questions, or look like I needed help.

There were a fair few men, and even some women, I didn't dare cross paths with. The old woman herself, possibly the most lavish hag I'd ever seen (and I hated to use that word, but up close she stunk like rotted cabbage and had such a wizened, warty face I couldn't get the word out of my mind), had seated herself on a thick costume trunk. Behind her loomed a dark tent filled with moths and clothes and the cheerful sound of chatty conversation.

"Hi," I began, nodding at her dress. "That's very lovely. Did you make it yourself?"

She kicked her little black shoes and smoothed the wrinkled, tiered layers.

"I was looking for some help. The King sent me for some new clothes. I noticed your stall from up there"—I pointed to the window I'd been watching from—"And would like to purchase some clothes from you."

The hag's eyes were two simmering pieces of coal.

I tried again. "I mean, I don't have any money, but if you write out a receipt, the king will pay you. I'll make sure of it." That was a lie, but after meeting the king, I got the sense that he was setting me up for this sort of situation anyway, and he'd take care of it. At least, as long as I was alive to harass him he would.

Setting the cane between her legs, she wrapped gnarled fingers upon the curved grip, and rested her pointed chin over it.

"Do you speak...." What had the Walrus called it? "Common? Common tongue?"

The woman opened her mouth: between black teeth flicked a red, scarred stub. I didn't mean to balk at her condition, but I sprang back, taking a moment to compose myself before letting loose a string of apologies. She offered a forgiving if not wretched smile, and took me by the hand into the depths of her stall. Dresses, in various, patchworked states, hung on thick cords strung around the place. Some were lavish as you'd find in a queen's ballroom, others as plain and simple as a peasant might've worn, and some were surprisingly modern. Spotting a blood stain on one or two, I had to wonder if any of the previous wearers had been involved in the Hunt.

And if everything was stripped away in coming to the Mid, how could there be what was clearly a prom dress in her tent? Unfortunately, the hag couldn't answer my questions.

For all her physical appearance made my skin crawl, she really had a kind soul. She and a young women, a pretty thing with a giant slash across her nose, helped me into more than a couple dresses. Feeling a bit ridiculous trying on puffy shoulders and hoop skirts and even a one-shouldered evening down,  none of which were going to survive a forest, I made eye contact with the woman.

"I don't suppose you've got pants?"

What I walked out in was infinitely better than a tunic, but it had a long way to go to meet my standards. After digging through a pile of grubby linens, I managed to find a dirt-stained bra. More of a shirt with bags, really. It offered little support for my girls, though the needle lace shoulder straps were rather pretty. Apparently underwear here wasn't really a thing, and even if the hag sold it, I wasn't sure that I wanted to put on something she probably hadn't washed before putting them out to sale.

For my poor-girl's Renaissance faire ensemble I'd collected a pair of trousers, leather boots that I stuffed some strips of fabric in to keep my feet in place, a thin grey chemise, and what amounted to a leather corset sort of armor and pair of bracers. I didn't feel comfortable in any of it, but being less exposed was a comfort I couldn't ignore. I had to admit though, spinning in her dingy mirror, I looked rather marvelously adventurous.

The hag let me leave without a hitch or contract, and with Chiro's tunic balled in my hands, I made my way to the stall next door. The troll sat with his whetstone, which he set down at the mere sight of me. "You lost?" he grunted, tiny yellow eyes assessing my mismatched outfit.

"I need a weapon. Something I can learn how to use easy."

He and I both studied the collection of iron war hammers and axes he'd propped against the wall behind him. "Ain't swinging no axe in a day."

I couldn't disagree. Hell, I couldn't even pick up the damned thing. "Archery, then?" I asked.

"Good choice." He nodded, running a huge palm over stubby hair. "Woman's weapon. I have got these." Behind his stool and the whetstone, lay stacked a few thin cases. He opened one of them, lifting a beautiful hand-carved bow. "Gonna cost you."

"That's the thing," I began, fidgeting with a thin grey sleeve. "I don't have any money. The King said—"

The troll spat. The case containing the bow thumped on top of the others. "King can come off his mighty ass and tell me so. You want bow, you make payment."

"What'll you take?"

He bit a thick lip, looking me over. "What you have?"

"Nothing, but I promise I can get you something...Something from the Oaks, maybe?" I glanced at the tunic bunched against my arm. "A Marl pelt?" Rather than give me a simple yes or a no, the troll dropped onto his knee. "So is that a deal then?" I asked, peering over his massive shoulder at the bow case. Was I supposed to get down on one knee, too? Is this what Mid folks did instead of a handshake?

"Did you just offer him a gift I gave you?" Chiro's voice was an annoyed rumble at my shoulder.

"It's not like it was a birthday present or anything," I said, relieved because it wasn't Akta, and slightly concerned that I was caught red-handed bartering something that I'd given back to him the other night. I smiled up at him innocently. "What'd you do with it, anyway?

"Was planning on lining Gabriel's dog bed with it." The Prince lifted his hand to the waiting troll, who rose back onto his feet, looking from me to Chiro with a befuddled frown. While Akta looked like royalty about to head off to a lavish dinner or senate meeting, the Prince had on what I assumed were traveling clothes: beaten leather, worn hood and cloak, a fine sword at his hip. "It is mine you know. I can do that."

"I won it fair and square."

"You gave it back."

"I was letting you borrow it."

"That's not what you said," he finished with a smug, catty smile. Flicking his cloak back, he turned toward the troll. "Your King wants her armed. She will take something from you, and you will get your payment later."

"Thank you," I mouthed, and then pointed to an already sharpened knife beside the troll. "I'll take that."

He was all too eager to pass me the dark handle. "Not bow?"

"I need this more," I decided, trying to look cool while I had no idea where exactly on my body I could store an eight-inch blade. While I'd naturally practiced some archery out in high school, the more I thought about sitting in the forest at night, the less useful I thought a bow might be. Fire into the dark and then what? What happens when you run out? When I tuned back to formally thank Chiro, he was already in the crowd. I had to shove my way back to his side.

"Where are you going?" I asked, latching onto his wrist. He turned on me in an instant, grey eyes flashing.

"Away." He wrenched his arm free.

"Why'd you help me?"

"To spare myself from being bothered later," he huffed. "The pelt is mine. Don't trade it again."

"I won't," I promised, bumping his chest as someone shouldered past me. He steadied me with a grimace, and kept moving. "You weren't here because you were concerned about me, were you?"

His shoulders tensed. He stared up at the pale sky a moment, before lowering his gaze onto mine. "Do you ever stop talking?" he asked.

I grinned back at him. "You were."

"You are the most interesting bride in decades, Tay Wilson. The King is not going to let you ruin yourself before the Hunt. That's why he asked me to babysit you."

"There might actually be a speck of goodness in that black soul," I insisted. I glanced toward a fly-covered hunk of meat on a wooden block. "I need you to buy something for me. I'm all out of trading material, unless you want me to barter away this tunic. It's pretty nice, nicer than what some folks here are wearing, anyway."

"What is it?" he asked, snatching the tunic from my hands.

"A hunk of whatever wild animals eat around here eat." He raised an eyebrow. "The King told me I have to survive a night in the Malumbrian Oaks. So that's what I'm doing."

"By making yourself a stinky target. What good will that do?"

"Not sure," I murmured. "I'm going to find a loyal thing. You have your wolf. The King has a squashed-nose gargoyle. I'm not even gonna survive a night in the castle, if Akta has his way. I'm going into this forest, and I'm bringing something back out."

"You have no idea what's in there," he said, taking a few easy steps towards the butcher.

"No," I agreed, "and I'm not sure I should, or I'll realize how deep in this shit I really am."

With that declaration, the Prince purchased a chunk of something red and fleshy and boned, likely part of a shoulder. He had it wrapped, got me a canvas bag to carry it in, and then walked me to the stables. There, he took a fresh horse, and let me walk between him and the stallion, on our way out the gates. He wouldn't say what business he had outside the castle walls, but once the shadows of branches touched the dusty road into the Oaks, I'd lost my voice to ask him.

The trees towered—but for every straight giant there were several more that grew sideways into bark-covered highways, twisted and angled, with roots the width of a horse jutting out from the ground, as if wind had shaped the forest.

"Head east," Chiro instructed, struggling to contain his mount from the moment he sat on it. His horse pawed dark moss, snorting something fierce, its ears back and eyes white.

"Does your sun rise and set the same way as earth's?"

Rolling his eyes, he pointed towards a spot on the horizon. "East. There is a waterfall shaped like a lion's mouth. Leave some meat near that, then back off and watch. Crag cats are defensive animals. Don't make any sudden movements, and you may yet make a friend."

"What if something else takes the bait?"

"It would be less painful to lose your life in the Oaks than in the Hunt."

And on that uplifting note, he turned the horse. With escape on its radar, the stallion bolted from the woods, and I was left in the growing shadows. Creatures buzzed and croaked and  hummed, always out of sight, always too close for comfort. Whatever had been a path disintegrated into overgrown weeds and upturned boulders. I climbed and slid my way along root and stone, easing past low branches and as tiny feet skittered above.

Daylight it was as I walked in, but within only a few feet even the bright green sunshine had dimmed to murky grey. Every few trees I stopped to score an 'x' in the trunk, until at last I'd found the waterfall: a big, roaring current that poured from a hole in a cliff that looked—if I squinted and tilted my head—like a lion's gaping maw.

"Find a loyal thing," I whispered, knife scratching out the last letter as shadows moved and claws clicked across distant bark.

Find a loyal thing or die trying.

As the tiny blips of sky grew dim, I moved a couple yards into the woods so I could better hear anything sneaking up on me. I shaved a piece of flesh from bone, dropped it on a boulder surrounded by trees, and climbed the nearest one, a good several feet in the air. The low limbs bore scratches, but there was nothing I could do except sit in silence above my offering as darkness fell.

The Oaks weren't bad, I'd been beginning to think, staring at the dark spot on a barely-visible stone so many feet below. It was like spending any other night in any other forest. Uncomfortable, rampant with eerie sounds and sharp twig-snaps.

And then a big twig snapped. And another, and another, a rushing crackle as something emerged from the waterfall's zone. Big animal. Size of a pony. Feline in its stalking movements, at first glance anyway. Gripping my knife in one hand, I leaned forward as far as I dared, straining to see what circled the stone. Sturdy chest and limbs—tall. But not furry. Its skin collected moonlight in smooth and hard bumps, plated along the spine in one large column with two smaller rows on either side like a sort of leopard ankylosaur. A thick, powerful tail drifted behind it, ending in a hefty club.

It stretched its neck toward the meat, sniffing loudly.

Tiny claws scraped the tree branch. Knife in hand, I turned.

A spider larger than my head dropped onto the bark beside me. From its mouth emerged a pale, elongated trunk that ended in a hundred clicking teeth. That mouth latched onto my leather corset. The body jumped onto mine and I screamed, wrestling the hairy thing off me. The knife bounced harmlessly off a sharp claw, and then we were falling. My back hit the ground hard. I couldn't breathe, couldn't move. The spider screeched in a way I'd never knew one could, and a hundred tiny, razor-sharp teeth latched onto my collarbone. It was sucking and pulling and piercing and I couldn't even lift my hand, too dizzy, too stunned.  I could only gasp as it fed on me, watch my skin whiten and cool.

Momentum tore it from me in a balled flash. It bounced against a nearby rock and scuttled away in a crooked limp. On descending on gossamer threads, several more arachnids dropped from the arched branch, swinging their toothy trunks.

The crag cat's nearest ear flicked toward me, and then pushed flat to its armored skull. It opened a mouth filled with bigger fangs than anything the spiders had and roared.