Chapter 21: Sawgrass

The forest canopy overhead was a thick, interwoven tapestry of leaves and branches, allowing only slivers of sunlight to pierce through, creating a dappled mosaic on the forest floor. The scent of damp earth and decaying leaves filled the air, along with the cacophony of chirping insects and the occasional dirge of mournful birds.

Cassian, Gareth, and Isolde were finally out on their survey mission, which Thorne had personally attached himself to in order to keep Cassian safe. He believed that Cassian's abilities would be instrumental in understanding the unusual behavior of the mana in the forest, as well as the signal coming from the rift. He had allowed Gareth to join as a porter, and Isolde to join as Cassian's personal guard. Of course, she demanded to be placed in that capacity. Thorne had seen them both fight, and while he was not looking for danger or explicitly looking for an opportunity to test his hypothesis, Thorne believed that, should Isolde become threatened, he might have a chance to get a better view of the magic Cassian used.

As he hiked up an incline, Cassian leaned on his brand new gnarled walking stick, sourced from his tree.

It had been one of the research team’s experiments. They couldn’t get a decent sample from the thing since it kept healing itself and dropped none of its amber colored leaves. So Farglow asked him to “try something.” Cassian didn’t have a clue, so he just walked up to his tree and told it to give him a couple of branches.

He hadn’t expected it to work. And yet the tree obeyed. With a groaning that sounded like the damned tree was falling and to be fair, that was exactly what it looked like it was doing. With a sound that portented disaster, his tree bent over, lowering an enormous pair of arms. It spooked quite a few people, and made Thorne run out of his tent with his shirt off, half his face still covered in shaving foam.

In a panic, Cassian had amended his request to two small branches no bigger than a pair of walking sticks. The tree paused, as if considering what to do next and how to fulfill his odd request, then it quit its Kaiju act, righting itself and returning its massive arms back to where they had been in the first place.

Then a pair of gnarled roots poked out of the ground, twisting themselves upward until, just as requested, two gnarled staff stood before Cassian. One was slightly taller than Cassian, with a spiraling knot at its head. The other, simple and gnome sized. He guessed that one was for Farglow. Cassian took his twisted staff in hand, and it came free. It was light, practical and kind of interesting to look at. It might even serve as a weapon in a pinch. Farglow struggled to pluck his from the ground despite it being proportionate to his size, so Cassian did it and handed him the prize, which he comically found much heavier than seemed natural given it was made for someone his size.

Thorne had been furious.

Cassian wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, then took a sip from his canteen. The forest was getting hotter and hotter, and he could tell he wasn’t the only one the temperature was affecting. There were nine members on the mission. The defense team, which included a hefty dwarf, a panthera, and a tall human scout. Then the research team, which consisted of Cassian, Farglow, and his assistant. Then there were Gareth and Isolde, the team’s porter and Cassian’s ‘bodyguard’ respectively. Finally, there was Thorne as the team leader.

Only the members of the defense team seemed unaffected, perhaps because they were used to the forest’s moods, or maybe they had some kind of artifact to help them with it—a shame they hadn’t shared. Meanwhile, the rest of the party was sweating in the muggy conditions.

At least there was a silver lining. Isolde had unbuttoned quite a bit of her shirt, and more than once Cassian got a good view of the sweat dripping down her neck and into her cleavage. Each time he did, it improved his mood and made the next step worth it. Hey, it doesn’t hurt to look, does it?

He thought about the plan Gareth and him had come up with to separate from the group inconspicuously. Despite Cassian's hesitation, they had ultimately included Isolde in the plan. She would just make things harder for them if she caught them disappearing without telling her why; and if they gave her the slip, she would never forgive them. Things were starting to improve between them. Last thing he needed was to make things worse again.

It was a very simple plan. Cassian had to admit that where he was prone to overthink and overcomplicate things, Gareth cut to the quick and found the most effective way of getting something done. The first step of the plan relied on Cassian having some idea of where they needed to go. Cassian was hoping that he would eventually sense Aria if he got close. Barring him not sensing anything before they made their way back, they would split from the group and travel a half hour deeper into the forest. If Aria had any control over the iron tree's ability to transpose itself to different parts of the forest, maybe she would somehow travel to him if he was alone.

As for how they would accomplish an escape without anyone taking immediate notice, that depended on one of Gareth's clever spells. A simple illusion spell. The three of them would fall inconspicuously to the back of the group and pretend to hold an innocuous conversation. When no one was looking, Gareth would cast the illusion spell and they would dart out of sight while their illusion pretended to just follow merrily behind the group. Gareth said something about inversions and distance limits which Cassian only understood a part of, but which Isolde found interesting and impressive.

By the time the illusion disappeared, they would already have been well on their way. And though it would cause some trouble with the rest of the team, Cassian was confident that after he did what he needed to do, they could find their way back to basecamp, and even potentially reunite with Thorne and the others. Cassian’s sense for the forest was improving, and his ability to tolerate the rift’s feedback was also.

The plan depended on his friends, so there was no way Cassian would be leaving on his own. But that was something he'd already resigned himself to.

Suddenly, the party stopped walking. The trees gave way to a clearing with waist-high grass.

Jorren, their scout, spat on the ground and cursed. “It’s razor sawgrass. It’s annoying as hell, but we’ll have to go through.”

The scout explained that whenever it appeared, while unpleasant, it was better getting across than going around. Going across would only take them an hour, while trying to find their way around would take several times longer; and potentially, they might not find one before nightfall.

Cassian looked across the sawgrass field. The grass was a yellowish color, like a wheatfield. Except the blades of grass that reached waist-high were jagged, gleaming with saw-like teeth on either end. Even so, the distance to the other side of the field, which stretched out left and right as far as he could see, was only, at most, a half mile across. They could do that in ten minutes. Fifteen if they were going slow. How would it take them an hour?

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The scout explained that the sawgrass wouldn’t cut through their enchanted clothes so long as there wasn’t a lot of friction and they didn’t move through it too fast. They should especially be careful not to let it touch their bare skin. Since the grass only grew to their waist, it shouldn’t be too dangerous. The only other threats were snakes, mundane and otherwise. Luckily, the most dangerous snakes were nocturnal, and the ones they might encounter in the sawgrass could be easily warded off with a repellent and a walking stick. The scout said that since Cassian had his gnarly walking staff, they wouldn’t need to break off tree branches in this area and draw the attention of a dryad or something. So Cassian would lead the way. Before they started to cross, the scout pulled the repellent from his pack, which came in tiny jars. Cassian asked what kind of magic they were.

The scout laughed and told him they were just ordinary oils made out of natural ingredients. Indeed, they were one of the most normal things Cassian had seen in this world. Essential oils. The one the scout chose was specifically clove oil. It reminded Cassian of cinnamon. The sharp, pungent scent of clove oil cut through the more natural forest smells, a stark reminder of the measures they were taking to ward off potential dangers.

The scout applied the oil generously to strips of cloth that he then distributed so they could stuff them in their boots. The scent of cinnamon was almost overwhelming. Cassian hoped the snakes would hate it just as much as he did. A little bit of essential oil is nice. A rag soaked in it was not nice. It burned the nostrils.

Cassian hesitated when he was going to give Isolde her clove-soaked strip of cloth. “Are you going to be okay with this?”

Isolde at first looked at him, uncomprehending. Then she connected the dots. She had snake eyes. This was snake repellent… “You’re joking.” Isolde said, glaring at him humorlessly, then took the strips. “You’re an idiot.”

“Is everyone ready?” Jorren said once he finished checking that they had all tied their rags correctly. “Just make sure you don’t move too quickly.” Then he grabbed Cassian’s staff which he had left leaning on a tree, meaning to hand it to him, but then stopped, staring at the staff.

“What is it?” Cassian asked, his hand outstretched to take it.

Jorren studied the staff, wearing a quizzical expression, then lifted it up and down as if testing its weight and pretending to struggle and finding it…heavy? He finally handed it over, watching Cassian expectantly as he took it.

Casian got the impression he was supposed to mimic what Jorren had done, so he did so, feeling a bit silly using the staff like a barbell. Then he arched an eyebrow and returned Jorren’s stare. “Is something wrong?”

Jorren opened his mouth as if to ask something, then closed it. He shook his head like someone telling themself they were imagining things and shrugged. Turning, he waved for everyone to follow.

They started crossing the sawgrass, moving slowly. Only the gnome Farglow didn’t have any trouble moving around. He got to fly around on that half-sphere hovercraft, which he did in circles overhead, presumably to keep an eye out for danger. But Cassian thought he was probably just bored. They were moving pretty slow across the clearing. Then again, it was faster than going around.

Indeed, walking through razor sawgrass was extremely slow and unpleasant. Now he could understand why it took an hour. Moving through the grass might not cut through their clothes, but it definitely felt like being pawed at by a cat’s claws constantly from the waist down. Blessedly, the scout had broken off strips of dead bark lying around the forest floor and instructed them to put them in their pants to protect their genitals. Cassian would have died if a cat’s claws were constantly harassing his John Wayne.

After they had been picking their way through the sawgrass field for some time, Jorren decided to distract them with a story. “Have you ever heard of the ropaveja?”

He hammed it up by waiting until several people in the group answered. “I got caught in a vine trap a few years back in the western reaches of the forest. It wasn’t just me. It got the whole team. Came right up out of nowhere, tied up our feet and stopped us in our tracks. We hacked at the vines with blade and spell, but they just kept coming. Nothing worked”

Once again he paused for suspense. This time Cassian took the bait. “So how did you get out?” Cassian asked, turning around briefly so he could see the satisfied grin on Jorren’s face, then he turned and continued stabbing the grass in front of him with the gnarled staff, doing his best to spook any snakes that the reeking clove didn’t.

The scout continued, affecting his voice like a trueborn storyteller. “There I was, thinking, this time the damned forest really got me. Then I noticed something. These weren’t just any ordinary vines. They weren’t out for blood. They were after our clothes. I could see all the little holes where the vinesap was dissolving my pants, but my skin was unharmed. So I ordered my men to strip, and just as I’d hoped, the vines let go of us and went after every stitch we had. I’ll tell you, explaining that at our basecamp why we were traipsing the forest in nothing but our boots was definitely something.. ”

The story elicited plenty of laughter from the group. Jorren ended the story with a coda. “Never start swinging ‘till you know what you’re up against.”

Gareth showed the measure of his stones when he spoke up and said, “What about you, Professor Thorne? Any stories?”

Thorne growled for an answer. But then after a moment he acquiesced, surprising everyone, maybe even himself. Cassian guessed he too wanted to take his mind off the constant scratching of the sawgrass.

"Once, as an adjunct, we came across an uncharted giant mushroom field. It was a precious new addition the rift had decided to provide.” This he said with particularly cutting sarcasm. “One of my…team members, stabbed a mushroom with a dagger, despite express instructions not to disturb them. I suppose he must have been curious."

"What happened?" Gareth asked. Thorne’s pause had nothing to do with dramatic flair, and everything to do with the reluctance he had for finishing the story.

Though Thorne sounded fairly irritated, he went on anyway.

"The mushrooms emitted clouds of spores. These spores were unaffected by wind or magic, similarly to your vines Master Jorren. It is what made me think of the story. Of course, we feared it was poison. It was, however, hallucinogenic gas.”

Cassian held his breath. Thorne had gotten…high? This was too good. Fortunately, he needed no prompting to finish the story.

“We were under its effects for hours. When we finally came to our senses,, our team leader made us take an oath never to speak of what we saw him do."

"What did you see?" Isolde pressed eagerly. It sounded like she couldn't help herself but ask. Cassian wanted to know too.

Thorne growled again, but this time, Cassian could tell there was something different in it. Thinking about the incident had made him want to laugh, and now he was struggling to keep it contained. Finally he said, "Some things are better left to the imagination, Miss Wyrmbane."

They continued walking, now in a silence that felt more like camaraderie. The only sound was that of the sawgrass brushing their legs.

Three-quarters of the way to the other side, Farglow, who really had been keeping an eye out for danger rather than just flying lazy circles, warned them of approaching enemies.

“What do you see?” Thorne called.

“Riftwolves!” Farglow shouted, panic evident in his voice. “They’re approaching us from behind. There are only three of them, but they are quite large.”

“Damn it,” Thorne cursed. “What kind are they?”

The gnome looked through a portable eyeglass then lowered it. “I believe those are briarwolves, professor.”

Now it was the scout’s turn to curse. “Briarwolves’ hide is thick, they’ll barely feel the sawgrass. We need to move quickly.”

“Won’t that mean we’ll be cut?” one of the other researchers asked meekly.

“Better than being eaten,” Jerren said.

“Stop talking and move!” Thorne shouted. The threat of snakes seeming paltry in comparison, the professor gritted his teeth and led the way, running forward, even as they could hear the telltale sounds of blades cutting through cloth, and maybe, flesh.