"It's time! It's time!" The singing of a single fae jolted her awake, and Castor sat up shakily, saw it dancing chaotically around the rekindled fire.

A creature with a doe skull for a face leapt out from the darkness of a tree just above them. With a hideous screech, it seized the fae without mercy and whipped it into the fire.

Castor scrambled backwards in shock as the fae flailed, wailing in desperation before tumbling out of the fire and rolling frantically in the leaves as flames encompassed its body.

As Mieska stood over the sobbing creature, he spoke in a low tone colder than the frosted night: "I told you to stay away from her."

"Mieska-" Whimpered the fae, "please have mercy-"

"Disobey me again, and I will tear you limb from limb. And I will give your flesh to Mother Whisper so that she may eat you."

The fae whined, dragging itself to its feet, limping away into the forest.

"Get up." He turned to Castor, pushed his mask onto the top of his head to show his human face, and gestured to her.

She was crouched next to a tree in terror, hand on the hilt of her dagger.

"I said get up."

She rose hesitantly, not daring to move her gaze from him for even a second.

In a second, he could throw her into the fire just like the fae, or worse.

"Oh, stop it with your frightened look." He approached her, grabbed her arm roughly, and began to drag her into the dark woods.

"Hey! The game hasn't started yet!" Protested Castor, trying to pull away unsuccessfully, his grip was stronger than she.

"It begins at dawn, but the Opening Ceremony starts before."

"I never agreed to that!" She collapsed to the ground purposefully, and in the suddenness of it managed to wrench her hand out of his.

"I. Don't. Care." And then in a quiet tone added: "It would be such a shame to break you before the game begins."

"It would be such a shame to scald your pretty face." Castor held up one of her colourful bottles, "but sacrifices must be made."

Mieska snickered. "You're not a witch."

"Maybe not, but this will melt your eyes out anyway. It's called chemistry."

"This is called magic." He was at her side in less than an instant; snatched the bottle from her hands and hauled her to her feet. "It's something you don't have, so don't play god with me, girl."

"It's the Gorion!" Shrieked Castor, and Mieska turned around suddenly, almost in terror.

Castor took the opportunity to bite his hand as hard as possible, felt the bone under her teeth and the salty taste of his blood.

Then there was a loud scream; her own. And a blur of black, and then the earthy smell of leaves as she fell limp to the ground.

(Poor gal).

***

She was bound against a tree with hemp rope, a rag of sorts stuffed in her mouth as a gag – and it tasted foul, like moss and dirt, and gods knew what else.

Even in the dim light of the stars, she made out a stone obelisk ahead of her. It was engraved with symbols in another language; odd streaks and dashes that made no sense to her untrained eyes.

Mieska was a few metres away, back to her, standing before the obelisk with his arms outstretched to the fading stars. He was utterly silent; not even the faintest sound could be heard from the surrounding woodland.

Castor shook her head, trying to dislodge the gag from her mouth to no avail, so she resorted to shrieking as best she could, which, (perhaps unluckily), caught his attention.

"It is time to inform you of my game."

She could no longer see his face; he had pulled the skull over his head. There was nothing human about him anymore, and certainly not in his tone. He seemed overly excited for a game that would end in her demise.

To hell with you. She tried to say, but with the gag it sounded like nothing more than gibberish.

"Right," He took a deep breath, "if you are still alive by the end of three days, you have survived the game and will be permitted to go free.

"As I am a generous god, I will grant you two hours head start to hide. After that, if I find you, I will kill you.

"I also think it's fair to mention there are dangerous creatures in these woods, so I am not the only threat. If they get to you first, that's not my problem."

He paused; approached her, revealing a sharp knife in his left hand. As he began to cut her free, he spoke: "Now, the rules. First, no magic is permitted. Second, no matter win or loss, the consequences must be honored."

Castor ripped the gag from her mouth and hurled it at his head, "and I suppose you're going to say my chemicals aren't allowed, they're suddenly magic?"

"Concoctions are permitted. Witches brew is not."

"Good." She paused, "...you never mentioned how to win."

"That's part of the challenge." She could almost imagine a smirk spreading across his face; the gleam in his eyes. "Well, you'd better be off. You have two hours before dawn."

"What?!"

Mieska did not reply, only sheathed his knife, and crossed his arms, waiting.

"But I can't see in the dark, how am I supposed to know where I'm going?"

He remained silent.

"Bloody hell-" But she hesitated no more; sprinted off in the direction opposite to him, into the darkness of whispering trees and hidden eyes watching her every move.

***

In the first half hour before the game, while her eyes adjusted to the dimness of the light, Castor could scarcely see anything besides the vague outline of trees against the early dawn sky. It was purely good fortune that she hadn't run headfirst into a thorn bush or tumbled down a ravine (although she did come close).

As her vision became better, it soon became apparent that no matter where she turned, no matter how far she ran in one direction, the forest always looked the same: gnarly branching reached out to her and the decaying undergrowth sunk under her every step.

Was she going in circles? She could not tell.

Then, as the sun began to spread cold fingers over the horizon, there was something different; something putrid in the atmosphere. The forest was no longer a dead maze of aged trees and browned grass.

There was something alive.

A dull stench wafted through the air, thick and squirming, worming its way into her nostrils. She could taste it on her tongue, and it tasted bitter; soured honey and rotten meat.

Faint voices were approaching, and Castor ducked behind the nearest tree, body flush against the bark as the voices grew closer.

"It's here somewhere. I saw it run west!" The dark fae had followed her.

A shiver ran through her body, and she pinched her nose. The sweetness was heavy in the air, worse than incense in a temple.

"Nasty creature can't hide forever, and when we catch it!"

"Cook it over a fire!"

"Into the pudding with it!"

"Suck the marrow from the bones!"

Pause.

"What's that?"

"What's what?"

Castor could scarcely breathe.

"I heard something."

Pause.

"Oh, sure you did, numbskull."

"It's not here, or Mieska would have caught it already."

"Shhh, don't say his name, in case he hears us."

Another pause.

Slowly, and ever so carefully, Castor dared to peer out from behind the tree. Three dark fae stood only a few trees away, one of them holding a steaming metal pot.

None of them were looking in her direction.

"I'm hungry, let's find it quick and eat it." Said one of the fae, one with scorched hair and red burns and blisters covering its arms. The same fae Mieska had thrown into the fire the night before.

It lifted an arm it its lips and began absently licking the wounds like a dog.

Castor jerked back in revulsion and slapped a hand over her mouth.

"No fear, time will tell us where it is." Said a second fae, "It won't be able to hide forever; Ziyka's brew will take care of it."

"Don't wave that so close to me, I can't stand that reek! Throw some more on the ground."

There was a clanging, a loud sploosh, and then a cry of pain. "Ay! Readein jinxed me! Do something!"

"Shut your maw. A little brew doesn't hurt the magic folk."

There was a whimper in reply, but nothing more, and their quiet footsteps faded further into the woods.

As soon as the fae were a reasonable distance away, Castor staggered back from the tree, rushing into the forest in the opposite direction.

The sour honey smell, Ziyka's brew, was worse than ever before. It flooded the air with its stink, and it stung her eyes, her skin; through her skin, until even her bones were beginning to ache.

What if the dark fae killed her before the game even began?

Hopefully Mieska would throw them all into the fire.

Covering her nose and mouth with her sleeve, trying not to gag, she ran blindly on, tripping over mossy sink holes.

Yet no matter where she was, the overbearing stench permeated the air around her, pushed her down, scraped at her mind like a scalpel.

She fell, into the wet mud, tasted dirt on her lips, and blood on her tongue, and that fetid, sour smell.

Castor couldn't move; she could only see the damp leaves at her outstretched fingertips and hear the excited cries of the fae in the distance.

"I knew it would work!"

"Bring the rope, Readein, we have it!"

Castor tried to grasp at the dirt in front of her, tried to pull herself along the ground but she couldn't even move her fingers.

"Best be quick before the sun rises-"

"Got the brew?"

They were so close now, only a few metres away at most, and rapidly closing the distance.

"We did it!"

"Hah! Teach that to the Gorion! Teach that to Mieska!"

Small hands grabbed eagerly at her arms and hair and ripped her clothes with their long nails. They began to drag her along the forest floor to a gurgling stream not far off. She could not see it as her vision was failing her, and the world was a blur of dingy colours, but the sound of rushing water was unmistakable.

"Hierhye, I lost the rope." Said the hushed voice of a fae behind her.

"We need to bind it first!"

"Fool!"

"The brew won't work in the water; we need the rope!"

"I didn't mean t-"

There was a sharp cry, and Castor was dropped abruptly onto the muddy shore of the steam. She could hear the fae pleading for mercy, but it lasted only a second, before high-pitched screaming ensued, and then several loud thumps and more screaming.

Then silence.

A minute passed, and still there was not a sound. Castor was beginning to despair that she might never move again, when out of the silence spoke a voice:

"Captured before the game has even begun? How pathetic."

Mieska, of course it was. With that stuck-up voice and arrogant laugh.

"But I do suppose it was rather unfair to use magic on a mortal."

She felt a pair of hands seize her wrists, dragging her into the freezing embrace of the water.

"You have thirty minutes until dawn, make the most of it." Said Mieska, releasing her into the stream.

Castor found herself able to move again. The water washed away the stench, and the ache. Her eyes could see the muddy banks; dishevelled grass at the edges.

But there was nothing more, no signs of life, no sign of Mieska, or the dark fae.

Only silence and the dull splashing of the water around her hips.

And for once, perhaps the first time since she fell into the Izdien, she didn't mind the silence.