The Forest of Forever (1987) by Thomas Burnett Swann

Author:Thomas Burnett Swann
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Fantasy
Published: 1987-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER IX

IN EUNOSTOS’s absence, I greeted his guests and tried to put them at ease. Here was Partridge, heading at once for the skin of fermented onion juice and avoiding the other guests with the zeal of one whose conversation was limited to “huh” and “can’t” and “don’t know.” Here was Bion, hovering at the door as though he were not sure of his right to mingle with the higher orders of Beast; after all, there were those who considered him a mere domestic. I took him at once to the largest table and soon he was clutching a loaf of wheaten bread between his forelegs and happily bobbing his head. And Moschus—surely I would have trouble with Moschus, who always arrived drunk and began his amorous advances with his salutations. Tonight he was drunker than usual and accompanied by an uninvited guest, no friend of Eunostos, a frowsy young Dryad of about fifty.

“There are more birds on the limb than one,” he smirked to me, proceeded to fling a large beerskin over his shoulder, and retired with his friend to the garden.

“Yes, cuckoos,” I called after him.

There were Centaur boys who clamored to see Eunostos’s workshop, though they could not climb his ladder and had to content themselves with peering into the shadows at the workbench, the tools, a chair without legs, the embryo of a table. There were Bears of Artemis who had to be coaxed out of corners with compliments on how artistically they had strung the black-eyed Susans, and—But why bore you with a list of the guests? Eunostos had innumerable friends; he had only excluded Panisci (except for Partridge) and Thriae.

But all the time I was worrying about Eunostos and waiting for him to return, and feeling that the Cretan could not have chosen a worse day in the year to invade the forest, even if he was wounded, and Chiron ought to exile him as soon as he had recovered his strength.

Just about dusk, Eunostos walked in the door as if he had forgotten it was his own wedding day, looking puzzled, troubled, and solitary.

But of course everyone hailed him as the happy bridegroom and in the next breath wanted to know about the Cretan. Some had glimpsed him but no one had dared to speak to him. Being a Man, he was presumed to be dangerous.

“Weren’t you scared, Eunostos?”

“Is it true he doesn’t have horns or hooves or fur or anything?”

“Did he soft-talk you and then try to slip a knife between your ribs?”

“He was badly hurt,” said Eunostos. “Kora took him to her house to nurse his wounds.” The guests remained quiet, waiting for details; waiting in vain.

“But the wedding,” I cried at last. “It’s time for us to go and summon the bride from her tree!”

“She said we were to go on with the feasting without her. Pretend it was a festival to the Great Mother or something. The wedding will have to wait a day or two. Otherwise, the Cretan may die.

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