While it made sense to divert away from Magnus and the cultists, the Trickster didn't have to like it. She travelled in silence for a little while, but eventually started singing to herself:

"The first day you can say hello,

Day two and they will still feel fine,

Day three you will be feeling low,

Day four and you are out of time,

Day five is playing fast and loose,

Day six--and now you walk away,

Until you find a hangman's noose,

Then close your eyes, pick one and say--"

She caught her lips in her teeth, and stayed silent as she navigated a tough mess of boulders and logs. "Cassie?" she tried. "Are you there?"

Silence.

"No," the Trickster scolded herself. "You are completely sane, and you don't have to talk to random ghosts in your head. All you have to do is--"

She blundered into a clearing. Small levelled fields were hacked into the earth, and a crop of beans and barley was growing. They were well tended; the Trickster couldn't see any weeds in the fields. Without competition for Bounty's grace, the beans had gone berserk, pods as long as the Tricksters forearms and the bulging beans inside the size of a curled little finger.

"Hello?" she called. Nobody answered, but there was a little cottage past the crops, and she headed towards it. The roof was thatched and the walls were built low. A path of river pebbles led up to it, and a note was crudely etched in burn marks on the wooden door.

"All who trespass here will... pie?"

"Die, actually," Cassie said. The Trickster heard a crunching step as someone came up behind her on the pebble path, but before she could turn around she was struck on the head and fell to the ground, unconscious.

"Yes, you are indeed dreaming again," Cassie told the Trickster, as they stood once more together in the formless void of the Trickster's mind.

"So," the Trickster said, "this wasn't something you thought I should know about?"

"No, why?"

"I am pretty sure being whacked on the back of the head is just as important as mushrooms!"

"No, that's not as important at all," Cassie said.

"Really?"

"Oh, right. You don't know the context."

"You're supposed to tell me the context!"

"No, I'm literally only here to keep information from you," Cassie disagreed. "If you want, you can deal with it yourself...?"

"No! No."

"All right then, we agree."

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"I don't like being whacked in the head," the Trickster said, sounding surprisingly sulky in her own ears despite it being a reasonable position to take.

"I know," Cassie said sympathetically. "But look on the bright side, you're a god. You'll get whacked in the head eighty five more times this year and still not have any bad side effects."

"Wait, what?!"

The Trickster woke up bound hand and foot, but ungagged, so effectively free, if she didn't mind Magnus knowing where she was. She didn't attempt to free herself right away. She was in the cottage, which seemed to have two rooms inside. The room she was in had a chair (to which she was bound), a pile of sacks of straw and blankets which she presumed turned into a bed when suitably arranged, and a large wooden chest pushed to the back wall. The room smelled a little odd, like rotten herbs. There were no windows, but light came in around the curtain that separated the rooms. The light had an orange tinge, presumably from a fire. The Trickster could hear humming from the other room. The light went whiter for a few seconds, and as it faded the Trickster could hear the door close.

"Mark! I refuse to waste food on her!" a woman's voice said.

"My dear, we need to know what she knows."

"We can do that by--" the woman's voice stopped abruptly, but the Trickster heard a sharp thudding sound, like a knife stabbed into a chopping board.

"And it may come to that, my dear, but we should at least try a more gentle touch first."

"You didn't say that last time," the woman muttered. "It's because she's pretty, isn't it..."

"Alice, darling, nobody is as pretty as you..."

The Trickster poked her tongue out in disgust, but quickly bowed her head as footsteps headed towards her room. The curtain was pushed aside.

"Excuse me, miss? Miss?"

The Trickster slowly raised her head, and feigned shock, pulling at her restraints.

"Sorry about that, there's been some strange people running about here lately, and we weren't sure that you weren't one of them." A friendly looking man, Mark was just about the height necessary to whack the Trickster over the head at the angle of her still-healing bruise.

"Do you mean the cultists or the witches?" the Trickster asked, allowing Mark to untie her.

"Goodness me, I wouldn't have the courage to get close enough to find out! Come have dinner with us, I'm Mark, and this is my wife, Alice."

Mark led the Trickster to the other room. Alice was indeed pretty, with curly hair and a snub nose.

"Thank you for having me," the Trickster said, giving a curtsey. "My name is Cassie."

"Please feel at home," Alice said, giving a curtsey back. "Dinner is almost ready."

"Mm," Mark said, sniffing appreciatively. "Smells delicious! What is it?"

"Your favourite, dear," Alice said, smiling warmly. "Mushroom pie."

*

Magnus waited for another minute, but no more arrows were forthcoming. He sighed.

"Are any of you left?" he called out. Silence. He stood up and surveyed the bodies in front of him. Some of them still had all their limbs, but none of them were moving. "Well, shit," he said. He walked over the corpses, until he found one, a younger man with a sword too big for him. Magnus squatted down next to him. The man's neck had been snapped by a tree branch. Not a direct magic death, so technically it wouldn't be cheating to...

The man gasped for breath, saw Magnus, and whimpered, scampering backwards as best he could. Magnus grabbed his foot before he could get up and try to run away properly.

"Now, now, is that any way to show your gratitude?" Magnus asked.

"Please let me go," the cultist whispered.

"Of course," Magnus said, not letting go at all. "All I want to do is talk. I want to make a deal with your cult."

"I... I don't have the authority..."

"That's quite all right," Magnus said. "Just bring me to someone who does."

"I..."

"You want to live, don't you?"

"Yes sir."

"Good." Magnus let go of the man's boot. He cautiously stood up. Magnus made a shooing motion with his hands. "Go on, go to your masters. I'll follow."

The man nodded nervously, then walked slowly into the forest. Magnus turned to the dire dog.

"Come on, then--no, don't eat that!"

The dire dog growled, and refused to drop the arm he was chewing. Magnus sighed.

"Fine, but don't blame me if you don't make a good impression," he said. The dog trotted up to him, and they began to follow the cultist.