If the old stories were true, back when the path was intact it took a rider two days to reach the bottom of the mountain. If a man walked, it might take anywhere between five to seven days, depending on how fast a man could run. With no path, Tristan felt he would be lucky to reach the end of the forest before the new moon. As he made his way, it was hard to believe that a pass existed anywhere among the overgrown grass, weeds, and vines. Some places were close to knee deep and up to his waist in others. He wanted to avoid the deeper spots, but Prospero would not hear of it.

  “Do not worry,” the god said with a reassuring grin. “You will not be snatched up by some creature. In the presence of the divine, mankind is free of life’s small misfortunes.” For some reason, the lad’s anxiety did not leave. As Prospero floated ahead of him, Tristan had the strangest feeling that there was some foul being in the forest, waiting for its chance to snatch him up. Gulping, he tried to not dwell on what step would be his last. He had enough to keep him occupied on his wearisome journey.

  Treading through the thick foliage was hard work, keeping him in a relentless, draining sweat. His muscles strained as he forced his way down the mountain. His feet tread on everchanging rocky terrain. At points, his foot dipped down between two rocks, as if a hole appeared in the ground. Another time, he stepped on a rock, which raised one foot above the other, almost making him tumble beneath the plants. Fear was the only thing keeping him from falling, giving him enough strength to keep his head above the foliage at all costs. If he fell, his body would sink into the sunken realm of the grass, a place he wondered if he would ever get back out. The fact that any mountain pass ever existed was more incredible by the moment.

  Prospero made sure their pact never slacked. Throughout the day, the god repeated the same nine words. “Hurry up,” the god coaxed. “We have a long way to go.” If encouragement was the intent, it wasn’t successful. It stank of chastisement. Tristan wasn’t sure how much of that he could take. Still, he refused to slow stop. The sooner they left the forest the better, but a man’s body can only take so much. When darkness started to fall, Tristan had all he could take. Using what strength he had left, he climbed up the tree, finding a perfect break in the branches, allowing him a place to sit, without fear of falling below. It was time to call it a day.

  “What are you doing?” Prospero asked, his voice stern. His bewilderment took Tristan by surprise.

  “You know that I am not an immortal being that can travel for days on end, right?” he panted, wiping sweat off his brow.

  For a moment, the god said nothing, considering the validity of his statement. “You’re right,” the god agreed, flashing a big grin. “Rest. I will stand vigil.” Tristan nodded his thanks.

  The night was difficult. He had not slept in a tree in years. Still, in time, he drifted into a half-sleep, where he would drop into rest’s embrace, to break away into the realm of the waking, only to fall back again until morning. Despite this, it was the best rest he had all week. As morning light peeked through the trees, he found Prospero hovering near him, a frown on his face. “You might be delighted to hear that you’re a fifth of the way there,” he said.

  “Great,” Tristan yawned. “Then in three more days, this part will be over.”

  “Only if we keep up a good pace.”

  There was a slight edge to his voice, an unspoken anxiety. What should a god be concerned about? Just as he was about to ponder the matter further, his stomach growled. Fool, he cursed himself. In his hurry to be free from his curse, he forgot to bring any supplies, not that Ariel had much to offer. Regardless, a few loaves of bread could go a long way. Only an utter fool leaves home with the clothes on his back. “Is there anything to eat out here?”

  That brought back the god’s smile. “Glad to see you have a sense of humor. By the time this is over, you’ll need it.” Despite his initial reaction, Prospero found some edible berries not too long after Tristan plunged back into the grass. They weren’t the best but they gave him the necessary nourishment to make it through another day.

  This is worse than yesterday, he thought. His footing felt a bit surer, as he grew more accustomed to the shifty ground, but that was the only bright spot. For some unexplained reason, each step required more force to push him onward. Sweat poured down his face as if rain fell on him. His shirt and trousers clung to him, making every movement a bit more unpleasant. Long before noon, he found himself leaning against a tree to catch his breath. His feet tingled with a faint pain, one that he could ignore, but he knew it was there. He avoided taking long breaks.

  “Keep moving,” Prospero urged. At each reminder, Tristan found himself growing more irritated. The lad’s heart jumped in excitement at seeing the setting sun. Exhaling heavily, he found a nearby tree, preparing to climb it. Changing his tone from the previous day, Prospero barked. “Don’t stop. You slept last night. We have to hurry.”

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  “Mortals need to rest every night,” Tristan replied. “Perhaps, you have forgotten this fact, being a god.” Prospero said nothing to this. Though it was hard to say if Tristan got the better of him or if the god was weary of the brief conversation.

  After another strangely restful night, Tristan asked his guide for water. “That’s a tough request,” Prospero answered. “But I will see what I can do. Until then, get moving.”

  Gritting his teeth, Tristan bit back any retort, choosing to heed the god’s command. He found that the third day was worse than the last two. Prospero managed to find a pool of water beside a tree, along with some berries. Tristan did his best to revitalize his body. At some point in the day, he tried making water. It was a miserable experience. Everything kept splashing on his legs. The rest of the day was a blur. He wasn’t even sure when he fell asleep, but he knew when he awoke. On the fourth day, he had a terrible wake-up call.

  “You fool!” Prospero’s voice screamed, jolting him from his sleep.

  Tristan snapped awake, grasping the branches. He narrowly avoided falling. “What?” he yelled back. Looking into Prospero’s eyes, Tristan almost lost his nerve, meeting a hot rage, one that licked across his body, threatening to consume him in its blazing flames.

  With one accusing finger, Prospero jabbed it at him. “This is all your fault. You took too long and now you’re going to pay for it.” Before Tristan could ask what the problem was, Prospero spun around, waving his arms at the path ahead. “Look at this!” Tristan’s heart sank as he realized that the path was worse than it was the day before. The foliage that stood around his waist a day before had grown to neck-deep in a single night. The mere thought of wading through that made his entire body scream out in protest. “Why couldn’t you listen to me?” Prospero exclaimed. “We needed to make it down the mountain as quickly as possible or this would happen. Don’t you understand the danger of an abandoned forest?”

  Tristan gaped at the god. “Of course not.” All of this divine, otherworldly knowledge was new to him. Did Prospero expect him to know the rules of a world he didn’t know existed until a few days ago?

  The god glared at him, a stern expression on his face. “When a god abandons their old home, a terrible nature takes over. Where peace once abounded, curses and malevolence reign.” Gesturing to the path ahead, he clarified, “This forest will kill any human that passes through it without using the proper path.”

  The lad couldn’t believe his ears. “This was all your idea,” he snapped back. “I knew this forest was dangerous. Babies are taught that from the moment they begin to crawl.” Prospero’s eyes sapped his temper. “Can’t you do something about it?” he whispered, his heart burdened with shame. “You’re a god.”

  At this, Prospero’s face fell, a sign of one recognizing their own powerlessness. “There’s only so much I can do. This was never my domain.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Learn this now, young one,” the god instructed. “In the realm of the divine, domain is what creates the balance of the world. No god can control what is not theirs.” Gesturing at the forest, he explained, “This was not my forest. Due to the pact, it was meant to protect my village. Not once did I believe it would be used against me.”

  They fell silent for a time, each taking in the awful situation they found themselves. Well, it’s alright for Prospero, Tristan thought. A god has nothing to worry about. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “We need to get you out of here as fast as we can.”

  Fear gave Tristan the strength to press on without the need for food or water. Shouldering his way through the tall grass, his breath came in short pants. Unsettled, he waited for the foliage to grow without warning, raising above his head to smother him in the undergrowth. His worries of an attacking creature became worse. He wished he had some kind of weapon. Though his training with Ur would be little help against a real monster, he’d fare better than if he had his bare hands. Weariness started to overtake him as the day wore on. If I could crawl up a rock, even for a few moments, I’ll catch my second wind. Just being free of this green prison would be enough. No such thing existed, forcing him to trudge on with no relief in sight.

  Watching the god float ahead, he kept asking himself why Prospero didn’t make their impending danger clearer. Though weary, Tristan knew that he would have pushed himself harder if he understood what was at stake. Did the god consider that something Tristan didn’t need to know? His line of thought was cut short as his head dipped under the green surface. In an instant, the sun disappeared and all he saw was a dark green. Whenever he fell back in Ariel, he always threw his hands up to save his face from smashing into the ground. He could not do that. Underneath the sea of grass, his arms couldn’t force their way through to break his fall.

  No rock met him on the way down, bringing him to a painful, yet thankful stop. Cushioned in the foliage, Tristan felt his body continue its downward descent. As each moment passed, he felt the air within his body slipping away from him. He tried to take in a deep breath, but the prison was impossible to breathe in. It was as if the plants around him stole the very air he breathed. Panic setting in, he struggled to thrash around, anything to set him free. His efforts were futile as he dropped deeper into the green void. Within the grassy sinkhole, he screamed, or he thought he did; all he heard was with the thumping of his heart.