by Ila Mercer
‘Not yet,’ the gamekeeper said.
Once all the dogs were untied, Dodo sounded two short blasts on her horn. The gates rolled open and then the dogs were off, yapping and snapping as they skittered over the cobbles.
Yaron, and the other hunters, slapped the sides of their horses, yelling ‘Yah, yah.’ They surged through the gates, chasing the small white tips of the dogs’ tails. Before long they steered clear of the Keep. Down the road they charged, the dirt channel barely separating the arching canopy of the trees. Then over the rough and down a gully that funnelled them into single file. The dogs bayed. Metal shoes struck against stones and the gully rang with the sharpness of it. The hunters fanned out when they entered the meadow. Now they were like the wings of a hawk, spreading their predatory shadow across the meadow. The moon raced on like a runaway ball, leading them deeper into the hunting ground and Yaron forged ahead of the others.
When he reached the ridge, Yaron stopped his horse and turned to watch the others on their climb up the hill. The dogs circled at his feet, snuffling the ground. The false trail that led them there had vanished. Backwards and forwards they paced. Not the black brute though. He edged away from the pack and mounted his own search. His shoulders rippled as his wagging jaw rooted amongst the rocky outcrops.
Yaron leapt from his horse and sat on a boulder. The other hunters had paused halfway up the hill. Yaron turned to look the other way; he was enjoying the moment of solitude. Sometimes he fancied he could very easily live the life of a hermit. He breathed in deeply, savouring the fragrance of crushed moss. The scent stirred a memory from long ago. A fine, golden morning. He, riding his papa’s shoulders. Ari striding beside. And then slipping from the dazzling yellow field into the quiet greens and browns of the forest. He recalled the scent of moss as their feet scuffed the forest floor, the honeyed tones of Ari’s voice as he asked about various flowers, fruits and seeds.
‘You were fast,’ Sia Fallengrove called as she crested the ridge.
He leaned back to peer up at her, but her features were hidden by dark shadows. With the moon casting its light from behind, she looked like a thistle flower – a puff of frizzled hair.
‘I love to ride at night. And you have given me an excellent mount,’ Yaron replied.
‘Good. You won’t mind if I ask you to take Deidee then,’ Sia Fallengrove said, her voice brightening. ‘Her horse went lame on the way up.’
‘Of course, it would be my pleasure.’ His heart shrank. He had no wish to have her thighs pressed into the small of his back, but he knew Senna Worrel would disapprove if he did not behave gallantly.
Yaron took the long bow he’d hooked over his shoulder and held it with one hand so that it would not be in the way of Sia Deidee. With his free hand he hoisted her into the seat behind him and almost immediately was conscious of her breath on his neck. He pretended not to notice.
The dogs, by this time, had scurried down the slope with their noses to the ground while the hunting party milled at the top of the hill, waiting for the dogs to flush the stag from the woods. Every now and then their baying could be heard. Sia Deidee, wriggled in closer to Yaron and whispered in his ear, ‘What do you see?’ Her breath was hot against his neck and her hands slipped lower on his hips.
‘Woods, rocks, hills,’ he said, as he gently lifted her hands until they were level with his waist.
‘Dodo thinks you’re a Beast lover,’ Deidee teased.
Yaron did not reply.
She lowered her hands and brushed his inner thigh. ‘Have you ever been with a Beast?’
Yaron pulled away. ‘Don’t,’ he hissed. ‘Have you no decency?’ His ears burned with shame as his body surged, unbidden.
Her laugh was bright and brittle in his ear. He wondered if Dodo had put her sister up to it. He bet the horse wasn’t even lame. How he wished he could be free of her. Without further thought he slapped the horse with his legs. They jolted forward, and Deidee grabbed him in an effort not to slide off. Down the hillside they galloped, Yaron spurring his stead, and guiding it round the outcroppings and hollows. Not that it needed his guidance, for its sight matched his own. That would show her, he thought.
She clutched his waist and screeched, ‘What are you doing?’
‘Hunting,’ he yelled back.
As they neared the base of the hill, a dark shadow sped towards them. It had a sound like the approach of thunder and it followed the path from the Keep.
Yaron leaned forward in his saddle. As he peered into the darkness, he realised that the shadow streak was an animal stampede.
‘What is it?’ Deidee whispered, leaning in close.
The herd moved as one, and yet their shapes did not match each other. Stranger still were the forms that flew above them. Like shadows in the air. As they drew closer Yaron knew what was wrong. This was not a herd at all but a medley of animals. Amongst them there were horses, deer, desert lions, hounds, hawks, sparrows and owls. Deidee clung to him, her body shaking. ‘Where’s your bow?’ she said.
That was when Yaron realised what had happened.
Fraya had freed the Beasts.
He glanced at the ridge above them. The hunters, like upright stones, were pitched amongst the outcroppings. They too watched the spectacle. And then he saw a rider break away from the party. Its swift form flowed down the hillside like molten steel - this shortly followed by two others, and then by all. Yaron turned back to the menagerie of Beasts. ‘Hide!’ he yelled at them.
But the dogs had caught the scent of the outlandish herd. They emerged from the woods, striking the flanks and heels of the passing Beasts. With a snap here and a lunge there they were, at first, too excited to hunt as one. Until the black brute rounded them up. He unified them into a ploughing pack of snarling teeth, and eyes scanning for weakness.
Yaron spotted it just before the black brute did. A small Beast that looked something like a deer and limped as it ran. He charged at the dogs, scattering them into confusion. With the tip of his bow he roughed the dogs around their ears and set a couple of them whining into the trees, with tails cupped between their legs. All the while, Deidee gripped Yaron like a vice, shrieking and shivering.
From the corner of his eye, Yaron spied the black brute. Chops wide, it bore down on the weakling Beast. And before Yaron could prevent it, the brute leapt. Landing in a deathly embrace, it sank its fangs into the small Beast’s neck. She screamed as she buckled to the grass. But it was not the sound of an animal.
Yaron’s gut clenched with the sound of it and he knew he was about to be sick when he saw the brute nuzzle at the small Beast’s belly. He turned away, but the image followed him, even as he closed his eyes.
Then came the whiz of an arrow lancing through the air.
In their panic, the rest of the herd veered toward Yaron. As they drew closer, he wound in his reigns. His horse became a rock within the stream of flight. So close, they came; he could have reached out his hand to stroke one and though their hides were dappled, furred and feathered, it was the branding on their cheeks that gave them away.
The last one passed. Followed, in close pursuit, by the black brute. For the hound, it was but a game. To see how many it could fell in an evening.
‘No!’ Yaron yelled. His fists like rocks, his anger hot and searing now. He charged at the black hound, striking it with the pointed end of his bow as he passed. The hound stumbled, rolled and lay still for a moment. Then with a shake of its maw, it was up again, loping after the herd.
Yaron took chase and once he had overtaken the hound, turned and blocked its path. Again, he bludgeoned the hound as it passed. If Sia Deidee had not been behind him, he would have taken the time to aim an arrow at the hound, but her body, tight against his back, prevented him.
Within no time the hound spun around. Dazzled by the strike, its bullied head sank to the flattened stalks. For a moment Yaron thought it too might slink away through the tall grass, but then its haunches bunched, and it raised its jaw. It stared d
own the horse and the rider, measuring them with a hunter’s eye and then lunged. Its muscled barrel of a body, its sturdy shanks and square head, were a mass of darkness, flying towards them.
At first, the horse danced sideways. But the hound was supple and quick as a whip. It dodged and sallied, nipping the fetlocks, winding the horse round and round like a clock.
‘Shoot it!’ Deidee screeched, her voice like a lance, piercing his skull.
‘Shut up,’ he said, squeezing her fingers. ‘Your screams are exciting it.’
As way of a reply, she pinched him hard, but her screeching turned to a whimper.
Though Yaron’s sight outstripped many others by night, he failed to keep up with the hound’s strikes so surrendered his reigns to the horse, whose instincts were a better match. Where before he had felt strong, in command, sure of his actions, now he felt as though he and Deidee were parasites. Encumbering, slowing the horse against the savagery of the hound. They were hammered left and right by the pitch and cut of the assault. And then in a bolder move, Yaron realised the hound had dodged between the feet of the horse. He felt the shuddering tear of fangs ripping at the flank of his horse. Even the least sensitive of riders would have sensed the spike of shock. The horse squealed and reared, shedding Deidee to the pasture.
‘Whoa boy,’ Yaron called, as he clung to the horse. But the horse’s terror could not be bridled. It trampled the ground, narrowly missing Deidee’s body as she dragged herself through the grass. The black brute lunged again, and this time the horse pinned its body to the earth. With a swift attack the horse bucked and kicked at the dog until the carcass was nothing more than a bloody pulp. Only then did the horse slow.
When the horse grew calmer, Yaron slid from the saddle, wary of its twitchy hooves. He patted its neck and knelt to examine its flank. Shadows concealed the extent of the damage, and yet Yaron could smell the welling of fresh blood. He ripped off his riding scarf and gently wound it around the horse’s wound, whispering reassurances as he did so. Then, from somewhere nearby, Deidee began to sniffle. He had forgotten about her in his concern for his horse. With a sigh, he turned and followed her trail of flattened stalks. He found her, gripping her shoulder and moaning into the crook of her elbow.
‘How badly are you hurt?’ His eyes were again fixed on the herd.
‘I think my shoulder’s broken,’ she cried.
Beyond them, the herd had stilled. Hunters circled the Beasts, but they did not shoot.
‘Wait here a moment,’ Yaron said. ‘And I’ll be back to help you.’ She was not badly injured, and there was another who needed him more.
He traced the path back to the fallen Beast. A prickling breeze ruffled the shattered grass stalks. Clods of earth pocked the meadow and the moon quivered amongst the gathering cloud heads. Across the meadow, hunters shouted orders to each other as they tied up the Beasts. Had any escaped? Yaron wondered. Were they hiding in the high branches and the low scrub of the forest? Would any of them ever make it back to their native land?
When he drew close to the fallen Beast, he could hear the soft pant of her fraught breath. He smelled the sourness of her entrails spilled from an open cavity. Her sides heaved with rapid pulsations. And though she did not turn her head at Yaron’s approach, her pupils dilated in awareness of his presence.
He knelt on one knee and placed a hand on her brow. Through the furred softness he felt the velvet buds of her horns. She was young.
He waited, as her breath grew weak. He could think of nothing to say, and so he kept his hand on her brow until her breath dwindled to a sip, like a finch robbing nectar from a flower. In his mirrored stillness he noted that his frame cast a moon shadow across the chestnut gloss of her eyes, petal lips and moistened nuzzle. For a moment flickerings of human expression entered her features. Yaron jerked away. Like a sheath of frost, moonlight bathed her face once more, and there was no more hint of the girl. After that he could not bring himself to intercept the light for there was a part of him that could not bear the thought of watching her die in a shape like his own. And so, though he kept his hand on her brow and sat with her until the end, he no longer allowed his eyes to meet with hers.
By the time the other hunters joined him she was dead. With no more care than they would give an animal, they strapped her feet to a pole so that her limp fawn head swung like a pendulum. Two hunters lifted the pole and carried the Beast back to the Keep, as the rest of the captured herd followed them in a funereal procession.
*
‘Tell me you had no hand in it,’ his uncle said when they were alone in their room. His chin jutted angrily, and his eyebrows were drawn down.
‘I had no hand in it,’ Yaron said.
Senna Worrel sighed, and his shoulders eased.
‘But I am as much to blame as Fraya.’ Yaron stared at the floor. Without meeting his uncle’s eyes, he recounted his part in the Beasts liberation. How he had incited Fraya and now felt like a coward, because he had stood by while she did something. Foolish though it was.
Senna Worrel paced the room. ‘You’ll tell nobody what you just told me,’ he said, shaking a pointed finger at Yaron. ‘They were not our Beasts. You had no right.’
Yaron lifted his eyes. ‘They should not belong to anyone.’
Senna Worrel struck Yaron on the side of his head.
Yaron was too stunned to react. His uncle had never struck him before. Then, as the shock of the moment wore away, pain took its place. His head ached from his crown all the way to his jaw and his ear pounded like a drum. Then, after a few moments, a trickle of blood slid down his neck.
‘You’d better hope she didn’t say anything,’ Senna Worrel snarled before storming from the room, slamming the door behind him.
After that, Yaron sat by the window, wishing he was already home. Back at the Downs. He ached with a strange feeling.
Before long, another drama unfolded in the courtyard below.
Fraya and Senna Globbet’s carriage rolled across the cobbles. Yaron watched with a sinking heart as Senna Globbet glowered at Fraya. His hands were like two great slabs of meat, paddling and pushing at Fraya from behind so that she stumbled as she tried to enter the carriage. There was no farewell party, and Yaron guessed Sia Fallengrove had asked them to leave as soon as she learned of Fraya’s part in the Beasts escape. Yaron dreaded to think what other punishments Senna Globbet might inflict on Fraya once the door was closed.
He waited for his own summons, wondering what would become of him, but the longer he sat there, the less likely it seemed that Fraya had said anything.
At first, he felt relieved.
But then, as he thought about the life draining from the little she-Beast’s eyes, he felt the weight of shame settle into his bones and knew this was worse than any punishment he could have been given.
Into the Woods
A rain shower fell, dampening Lita’s clothes and hair. It moistened the leaf litter, though not enough to saturate the soil beneath, and when the clouds drifted away, the sun seared the earth with a dazzling eye. Everything steamed: the mulchy bracken, Old Hodder’s withers, the tendrils of hair that curled at the base of Lita’s neck. She fanned herself vigorously, stripped off her shawl and vest, and lifted her skirts until they bunched around her knees. MaKiki glanced Lita’s way and frowned.
Under her skirts, Lita hid the torn parchment. She was anxious to look at it and see if the damage could be repaired but that would have to wait. She wasn’t certain whether MaKiki even knew she had retrieved the document. Such was MaKiki’s anger, that she had remained silent since leaving Yawmouth.
Lita had never seen her guardian so moody. At first, it had scared her but now she was starting to feel annoyed. The silence was petty and childish and because Lita often used silence to punish MaKiki, she reasoned her guardian was doing the same.
Eyes fixed to the road ahead, Lita began preparing a speech. She would have plenty to say when MaKiki finally broke her silence. However, neither she or M
aKiki had slept the previous night, and before long, Lita’s eyelids sagged. Had it not been for the erratic buzz of a blowfly, she would have fallen asleep.
Old Hodder’s hooves clopped slower and slower on the track and Lita nodded with the pendulous rocking until a ragged snort startled her. She turned to see that MaKiki’s eyes were shut, her head had rolled back, and her mouth gaped slightly. It filled Lita with relief. In repose, MaKiki’s features had lost their brooding intensity.
When Old Hodder started reaching for tufts of dry grass, Lita wondered whether she should wake MaKiki. They would never get to Tanglewood at their current pace, she thought. Then another idea occurred to her and she gently loosened the reigns from MaKiki’s fingers. The leather was supple and warm in Lita’s hands as she picked up the slack. Hodder turned his head with the change in tension and his pace quickened when she flicked the reigns. As she remembered it, the road to Kipping was not much further ahead, but first they had to cross a bridge.
Before long, the wagon rumbled along at a swift pace. Lita knew she was going faster than MaKiki would have allowed, but there were many miles to cover. Tree trunks flashed past as Lita whistled under her breath. The road shimmered with heat and the azure sky grew so stark it hurt her eyes. Lita wiped a trickle of sweat from her brow. She hoped they would find a water hole at their next camp because when she scraped a fingernail lightly across her cheek it came away encrusted with dust. Lita glanced at her guardian. Though MaKiki’s head wobbled with the rocking of the wagon, she seemed to be in a deep sleep.
Eventually Lita caught sight of the bridge ahead but knew at once that something was amiss. As they drew closer, she saw that a heavy rope had been tied from one side of the bridge to the other, blocking their path. Nearby a sign with an arrow pointed to a narrow track. Lita wondered what it meant. Was it a byway? Did the track lead to another crossing where the river shallowed? She thought of waking MaKiki. It was the right thing to do, after all. But she had been enjoying her morning and decided no harm could come from making a little detour, and so, she turned Hodder onto the byway.