A Forest of Secrets

Chapter 18

"I think we just found the forest people," she whispered to the others, trying to sound more sarcastic than scared.

"They're amazing at greeting people, I'll give them that: nothing says welcome like a rain of pointy arrows," Alaric said between his teeth. Jo tried not to laugh. It was a serious situation, they needed to tell them who they were. Who she was. She moved forward, tentatively, but an arrow stopped her short-- it had been this close to pinning her foot to the ground. Jo cleared her throat. Apparently, moving was out of the question; they shot panicked looks at each other. Alaric managed to find Jo's hand and squeezed it tight-- that small gesture eased her nerves, if only for a second. She took a deep breath.

"It was nice meeting you all," Laurentius muttered. "If that means anything."

"You could turn into a bird and get out of here," Wyn whispered back. "I'd do it if I were you, I won't blame you."

"Not a chance. If we die, we die together," the mage joked. "I won't let you have all the fun, little skunk," Wyn wrinkled her nose.

"Shh!" Jo shut them up. "I think someone's approaching us. Don't move, and let me do the talking. They're expecting grandmother, and I'm not nearly as wrinkly or sour-- I don't think I can pull off an impersonation."

"Do you think they'll invite us over for tea? I wouldn't say no to a..." Alaric suddenly stopped talking.

Jo looked in the direction he was gazing at: it couldn't have been. Could it? A  bearded man. His face covered in tattoos. His head covered in feathered hair that looked like a nest.  He was walking towards them, but he looked so... young. He looked not older than Gerard had been, and he should've been at least Grandmother's age. Or maybe it was someone else, right? Maybe his son, or his grandson. Maybe that hairdo and tattoed faces were popular in the Faradian Forest.

As the man got closer, Jo realized he was also incredibly tall; Alaric, the tallest of the four, only reached a little higher than his elbow. Wyn looked comically small, compared to him, like a rag doll. He was wearing a long embroidered white tunic, with golden and silver birds and flowers following intricate patterns. His hands were in his pockets; he walked with debonair, striding towards them like a city noble taking a stroll in the market with a slightly amused grin on his face. He stopped in front of Jo.

"I assume you must be Jocasta?" he furrowed his eyebrows. "Your grandmother sent me a bird a while ago, telling me you would come in her place if she could not make it," he pressed his lips. "I have not  heard from her since... this means your grandmother..." he hesitated "... is she...?" his eyes darted from her to her companions.

"Dead?" Jo laughed. "The old crone will outlive us all: mark my words. She was fine when we left her, I'm sure she's doing great right now,  probably soaking up the sun somewhere up north, not giving a damn."

"I am sure she is," the man smiled with his eyes; he raised a hand. Jo could hear how a hundred bows untensed all around them, she looked up: there were men and women hiding in the branches. There was an uncomfortable silence, followed by extremely uncomfortable looks- what now? She thought. She didn't dare to move, and apparently, neither did her companions. Alaric's hand was getting sweaty, or was it hers? At any rate, she didn't want to let go-- it was a nice safety blanket. Damp, a little gross, but nice.

She observed the man, and he observed her right back: he inspected her carefully, crouching to get a better look. Jo nearly pissed herself when he lunged at her... and hugged her like an old friend. Jo couldn't help but let out a nervous giggle afterward. Talk about awkward. How does one go from trapping someone like an animal to holding them in a friendly embrace? Like that, apparently. She knew nothing about those people, maybe it was customary, perhaps Alaric hadn't been so wrong, and that had been a proper Faradian greeting.