Fractured Infinities

Predestined Paths

A quiet cough, maybe an hour later, recalls me to the huntsman.  "Mary?" he hisses.  "Are ya sure she went this way?  Her tracks go straight into the haunted part of the forest."

"I'm sure," I tell him patiently.  The scenery reflected in the princess's necklace has gotten distinctly darker and more ominous, though still relatively benign by my standards.  The trees show a distinct lack of thick spiderwebs, for instance, and there are no unusual creatures scurrying around the underbrush.  The princess herself looks rather worn and frightened; she clutches the velvet of her dress to her chest and jumps at every unexpected sound.  If I had to guess, I'd estimate that she's no more than fifteen minutes away from us.

I'm actually surprised it has taken us this long to find her; she must have been truly terrified to get this far.  I've always regarded her as a bit of a spoiled brat, but I have to respect her determination in this case.  I hope she, like so many before her, learns from this experience.  If her story follows the most typical path, she'll be queen sooner rather than later, and the kingdom doesn't need a petty child on the throne.

The huntsman sighs.  "Alright then."  He's been riding a bay gelding, but now he dismounts and smacks it on the rump.  "Go on home, boy.  I'm not taking ya into that." 

The horse whiffles, blowing hot breath through the huntsman's hair, and he strokes its nose.  "Go on then, get out of here."  To my shock, the horse obediently turns and trots off in the direction of the castle.  Does the huntsman have some form of animal magic?  No... I would have spotted it, I think.

Just to be sure, I shift my vision into different ranges of the electromagnetic spectrum, then riffle through the magical planes.  There's nothing on any of them, not even the slightest ripple.  The horse must just be a well-trained creature, which in some ways is even more impressive.  Any mage worth their salt can compel a dumb animal to do their bidding, but it takes significantly more skill to convince an animal to obey without any form of magic.

My view spins dizzyingly as the huntsman replaces me in his belt before kneeling and pressing his fingertips to the damp soil.  "She's close," he mutters.  "This is still fresh."  I'm not sure if he wants a response from me, so I remain silent. 

He remains kneeling for a moment longer, running his fingers over the tracks on the ground.  From my vantage in the mirror, I can't see his face, so I split my attention into a dozen water droplets on the surrounding leaves.  Though my vision is a bit more blurry, I can easily see the way his brow wrinkles as he studies the ground.  There's more than a trace of regret in the expression, which surprises me.  What does he have to regret?  Or am I reading him wrong?

Unfortunately, mortal emotions are quite hard to understand sometimes, and body language is highly species dependent.

I debate asking, for humans often like to talk about their feelings, but he doesn't give me the chance.  His forehead smooths over and his mouth assumes a stern line as he rises and brushes his hand over his breeches.  Then, without a word, he strides briskly into the so-called haunted forest.

The last time I checked, the dismal air of this section of wood was created by a rusalka who had claimed a nearby pond as her own.  She shouldn't be a danger to the princess, though the huntsman would do well to avoid her watery lair – rusalka have an odd love-hate relationship with human men.  Bones litter the ground around her pond, remnants of the men foolish enough to wander into her clutches, but a few who have survived an encounter with her return with mounds of treasure.  As far as I know, the rusalka never tells them that their newfound wealth is derived from the pockets of dead men.

I don't know what causes a rusalka to spare a potential victim, though learned magicians have postulated a dozen theories.  As I've never ended up in a rusalka's hands, I couldn't say which are true.  However, I do know that the fraction of men who survive is miniscule, and I don't want to take the chance that the huntsman is not among them.  Thankfully, I don't believe that the princess is heading in her direction.