Hunter's Night

by Melinda Kucsera

  Nine months ago, the Orphan Master had broken his right arm, his left leg, and multiple ribs. They’d all healed, but he still limped a little. Pain still shot up his left leg and up through his side as Sarn slipped and crashed into a menhir covered in snow. Those damned rings of standing stones extended down to the river but stopped well short of it, putting additional obstacles in his way.

  His magic roused itself too late to catch him, and Sarn banged his knee. Wincing with pain, Sarn grabbed ahold of his magic before it could recede again and wrapped a shining, green brace around his throbbing knee. It couldn’t heal the bruise that was surely forming, but it could take some of the pressure off as he hobbled onward.

  “Hurry,” said a shadow racing on ahead, startling Sarn so he almost tripped over his own feet again.

  It was the Marksman, Nolo’s other persona. He hadn’t known it could speak. Perhaps ‘persona’ wasn’t an accurate way to describe it. Without Nolo, the Marksman seemed like an independent entity.

  “Can’t you catch him? You can move as swiftly as a thought. I can’t.” Sarn gestured to his knee, and the unhappy magic banded around it.

  “No, I'm only a guide. That is for you to do.” The shadow shook its head then it was gone.

  A loud thud shattered the silence followed by the eerie howling of wolves on the prowl. Sarn started to turn, suddenly remembering the Wild Hunt. They had a pack of wolfhounds, but he hadn’t seen any with the Huntress. Nor did his map have any wolves at all on it, but he was only looking at a two-mile radius around his current position.

  Sarn stared at his map certain it must be wrong. There was no sign of the Wild Hunt either. They must have ridden off. Relief swept over him momentarily taking his mind off the dull ache in his knee.

  “Boy, come here. Your master needs you,” the Marksman said. It was a dark smudge on the frozen river.

  Oh Fate, Nolo. For just a moment, Sarn had forgotten about him. All his hopes died when he scanned the river and found a dark shape unmoving on the ice. Even from here, a hundred yards away, he could hear it cracking. Nolo.

  Sarn hobbled as fast as he could to the river then nearly fell flat on his face when his magic stopped him at its edge.

  “No water,” his magic said as it wrapped around Sarn and dragged him several feet in the snow before he stopped his mountain-ward slide. It would take too long to hike back to Mount Eredren and flag down another Ranger. No, he must do this himself.

  “I must save him. You must let me. Please,” Sarn begged.

  He wanted to punch something in frustration, but there was no point in that. His magic had always been unpredictable in the winter. It was rooted in the earth, and there was a lot of snow between Sarn and the rocks that so fascinated them both.

  “If I stay out of the river, will you let me help him?”

  His magic released him as it retreated to its den somewhere deep inside him, but it remained vigilant. If Sarn got too close to the river again, it would drag him back to the mountain, and that wouldn’t help Nolo.

  Sarn cast about for a way to save Nolo that didn’t involve walking on the ice. Cracks were proliferating around Nolo at an alarming rate. If he didn’t move soon, he’d fall in, and Sarn couldn’t dive in after him. His magic would never allow that.

  “Hold on!” Sarn shouted, but Nolo still hadn’t moved. Oh Fate, he must be unconscious or worse.

  Sarn swallowed the rising tide of fear before it could master him and stripped off his cloak. Years of wearing it had imbued it with power that was less picky than the one currently lodged like a hot rock in his belly. He twisted it, imagining what he needed—a lasso.

  The magic-saturated cloth reacted to his wishes and compressed itself into a twelve-foot-long rope. Sarn didn’t know how to tie the kind of knot that he could cinch closed with a good hard tug, and neither did his magic. This makeshift rope would have to do then.

  “Nolo! Catch.”

  Sarn hurled one end at Nolo, but Nolo didn’t grab it. He just slipped into the dark water and disappeared. Sarn moved as close to the edge as his magic would allow and tossed the end of his rolled-up cloak in. It quickly came apart as the magic holding it into a thin line dissolved in the water. Crap.

  “Come on, Nolo, grab my cloak. I can’t jump in after you.”

  But Nolo didn’t. Sarn felt only the gentle tug of the current. He dropped his cloak, steeled himself for a fight and punched his fist through the ice. His magic reared up and slammed into his chest, knocking the breath from Sarn. But something had caught his submerged hand.

  “Nolo?”

  Sarn pulled a skeletal creature out of the river. It wasn’t the Marksman Sarn realized as he stared into the hollow pits of Death’s eyes.

  “Where’s Nolo? Have you come to—?” Sarn let that sentence hang. He couldn’t bear to ask if Death had come to harvest Nolo’s soul.

  “Help me, Magical One. It’s forbidden for me to interfere on my Marksman’s behalf. You must pull him out.”

  “Did you just say 'Marksman' or ‘Marksmen’ as in there’s more than one?”

  Death nodded. “Of course, Death has many aspects. Each one can name a Chooser of the Slain, and with that title goes the mantle.”

  “Aren’t you Death?” Sarn asked. He was thoroughly perplexed now. Was the Marksman a separate entity from Nolo or a set of responsibilities he could put on like a suit of clothes? And who the hell was Sarn talking to?

  “No, I am not the entity known as ‘Death’. I am a manifestation of the mantle of power conferred on the Chooser of the Slain or Death’s Marksman as he is also known. I'm also a guide. Enough questions. Go help him. Your master is drowning.” The shadow man pointed at the hole its bearer had punched in the ice. A thin skin of ice was already forming because the Nirthal was a freshwater river this far west.

  ‘Master’—the word galvanized Sarn, or rather the promises he’d sworn did. “I want to save him, but my magic won’t let me.”

  “I’ll help you.” The thing he’d been calling the Marksman seized his ankle and pulled Sarn into the river before he could object.

  That icy water hit like a thousand knives and momentarily stunned Sarn. It also snuffed out the glow of his eyes, leaving Sarn in the dark. His magic screamed and fled deep into his core as he sank under that freezing water. Only a small white flame remained, and it kept burning in his chest as if he wasn’t floating in its nemesis.

  Weird, but Sarn didn’t have time to analyze his magic’s quirks right now. Nolo’s life was in danger, and Fate damn him, Sarn liked and respected the man too much to let him drown. But without the glow of his eyes, it was pitch black under here. How could he find Nolo if he couldn’t see and all his senses were blunted by the retreat of his magic?

  Something brushed his leg—was that a hand? Sarn felt around until his numb fingers grazed something—an arm maybe? He seized it and swam for the surface before he ran out of air.

  Sarn struck a patch of ice with the top of his head and stars exploded in his vision. When the pain subsided a little, he felt for a break in the ice. Where was that damned hole? It couldn’t have refrozen that quickly. They hadn’t been down there for that long.

  But it was long enough for his lungs to burn with the need to breathe right now. Sarn panicked when all his questing hand met was more ice, then a hand grabbed the back of his tunic and tugged. The tugging ceased, but Sarn had a direction—backward. Death/the Marksman—whatever that thing squatting on the ice was—could help those who helped his bearers. Rules were so annoying.

  This time when Sarn surfaced, he sucked in a lungful of freezing air and coughed, but he managed to pull himself and Nolo out before the coughing fit left him gasping for breath. “Nolo?”

  No response, but the entity Sarn still thought of as Death squatted by his side. Its black bow and quiver were nowhere in sight, so Nolo wasn’t dying yet.

  “I’m not the one known as ‘Death’. Please stop thinking of me as such.”

  “Then what do I c
all you?”

  The shadow considered that as it pressed on Nolo’s chest until he coughed up water then it turned Nolo on his side, so it could pound on his back.

  “The Marksman is fine, I guess. That’s what he calls me.” The Marksman gestured to Nolo.

  “Is he breathing?”

  Nolo had better be. Sarn didn’t want to replace him as Death’s henchmen, no thank you. He had enough responsibilities. When that creature kept eyeing him, Sarn crawled away from it onto a patch of thicker ice.

  “He breathes. No replacement is necessary.”

  Sarn suppressed a relieved sigh. At least he didn’t need to worry about that anymore.

  “Good.” Sarn laid down on the ice too cold and tired to do anything but stare at the runners headed their way, hopefully with blankets and hot drinks in hand. In the meantime, he pulled his cloak over them. Half of it was wet, and the other half was covered in snow, but Sarn was shivering and the gold disc of the sun peeking through a break in the clouds had grown a fuzzy halo. That couldn't be good.

  “Nolo, if you can hear me, just lay there. Help’s coming.”

  Help arrived swiftly, which meant that help was the next rotation. Since the arctic cold blew in earlier that week, the Watch had been pulled in to patrol the ten-mile circumference of the outer circle of menhirs and everything within it. Every four bells, a two-man team rotated out and a new one rotated in, so in theory, no one froze their balls off.

  Sarn sat up to greet his replacement. Maybe he'd get back to the stronghold in time to walk his brother to school. Maybe not, since every nerve ending tingled as power lit him up from the inside and his magic roared out of its hiding place.

  Oh please, let my skin and bones not be glowing. Sarn hoped that wasn't happening. But he couldn't tell with his power thrumming through his veins and pulling every muscle painfully tight in a prelude to a seizure. Green lightning crackled around his fingers, warming them as light exploded from his eyes in a blinding cascade.

  “I can’t breathe.”

  Convulsions racked Sarn. His chest felt like it was caving in, and the sunlight shafting through the clouds overhead strobed in a mesmeric pattern as the edges of his vision darkened.

  “Just hold on, Kid. Help’s coming,” Nolo said between deep racking coughs.

  “Nolo?”

  “I’m here, Kid. You’ll be alright.” But Nolo didn’t sound certain of that, and his face was creased with worry.

  The Marksman poked its matte-black head, which was thankfully a featureless void again, over Nolo’s shoulder and seemed to murmur something in his ear about shock. Sarn couldn’t make out the rest before his world faded to black.

  Chapter 13

  “Robin, look over there. Do you see it? The snow’s all churned up like someone came through here.” Strella pointed at the base of a tree whose bole was only as wide as ten very friendly men.

  “Can you tell when?” Robin approached then paused when a soft glow caught her eye.

  “No way to tell really. Sorry,” Strella said from where she crouched in the snow.” But I think I see a partial hoof print right there.”

  But that print wasn't what drew Robin on. Following the light she’d seen, she threaded through two trees that were half as wide as the one Strella stood next to and just stared at the vista spreading out before her. “Strella, you'd better come see this.”

  “What did you find now?”

  Another glowing thread, but Robin didn't mention that. She extended a gloved hand to touch it, and the Huntress’ face flashed through her mind's eye, stunning Robin. “She was here.”

  “Who was?”

  “The Huntress. She came here for something.”

  “Did she get it?”

  “I don't know.” But that string might if Robin could figure out how to pull that information out of it. The string vibrated with the Huntress’ rage as it squirmed in the snow.

  “What are you?” Robin asked it in an undertone ignoring the flush creeping over her face.

  But that thing was no ordinary string. What did that make her if she could interact with it? Robin glanced away. She felt like a fool for talking to an inanimate object, and part of her was glad it hadn't replied. Robin started to push up from her crouch to check on Strella when that white string leaped into the air and snapped shut around her wrist next to the one the Huntress had left behind earlier.

  “I guess there's no question about where we are now.” Strella stepped up behind Robin and marveled at the view. “Unless I'm mistaken, that's Mount Eredren over there. But what are those giant rocks between us and it? It looks like they go all the way around the meadow.”

  And there were more glowing strings. A half dozen green ones wriggled and glowed on the other side of that double ring of standing stones. Robin took a step toward them then stopped as something she'd heard a long time ago came to mind.

  “I know what those rocks are. They're a really big henge.”

  “I see that, but why would someone build a henge around a mountain? That just seems counterintuitive.”

  “Why enchant thousands upon thousands of miles of trees?” Robin countered.

  “Good point, not much about our lovely country makes much logical sense when you think about it. That's what makes it so special.”

  “I'll agree to that.”

  Since their destination was maybe a mile or so away, Robin pulled her hip flask from a pocket inside her coat and drank the rest of the melted snow. Strella copied her then crossed to the sled and poured some water into Cat.

  While Strella's back was turned, Robin crossed the ten feet between her and the first ring of menhirs. The hairs on the back of her neck and arms stood up, and the air felt charged. These weren't just any stones. They vibrated when Robin touched them.

  “Will you let us pass?” Robin felt stupid talking to the rock towering over her, but she had to cross them. She needed to examine those green-glowing strings lying on the snow on the other side of them. They might be able to tell her where the Wild Hunt had gone. She had a sick feeling she already knew what they'd come for—another child. “Please, let me be wrong about that. I wouldn't wish this misery on anyone.”

  Robin leaned her forehead against the rock, and an image blossomed in her mind. She saw the Huntress strike a seductive pose right where she'd found that string. It vibrated against her arm. But there was someone else there too. Someone the Huntress had wanted for something, but that someone was just a bright green blur. Next to that light, a shadow stood, and it felt protective.

  “Who are you?” Robin asked. The image faded the instant that question flew out of her mouth.

  A howl startled Robin. Not again. She wasn't ready to face those lupine creatures again. How far away were they? Robin spun on her heel to face the enchanted forest she and Strella had just left. Two glowing hands seized her and dragged her through the space between two standing stones.

  “Strella!” Robin managed to shout before she crashed into a wall of green light.

  “Robin!”

  “Fear not,” an androgynous voice whispered in her ear as those hands released her. Robin stumbled through another gap between those giant stones onto a snowy meadow free of menhirs.

  Six green threads glowed on the snow at her feet. They weren't like the others she'd found. Who did they belong to?

  Robin sank to her knees. As she watched, those strings curled into circles that connected to form a loose chain. She picked it up, and the links expanded until the green-glowing chain was long enough to drape around her neck.

  “Robin? What are you doing?”

  “Accepting a gift, I think.”

  “From who?” Strella asked. Snow crunched behind Robin as the warrior woman approached.

  “That's what I'm hoping to find out. You know. I never was into baubles, and now, I seem to be collecting them.” Robin shook her head at the strangeness of her situation. The necklace was warm against her gloved hands and welcoming,

  “Shoul
d you put that on when you don't know what it'll do?”

  Robin stared at the necklace made of glowing links. “The others I've found didn't harm me, so why should this?”

  Before she could worry overmuch about it, Robin dropped it over her head. The chain slipped under her coat and settled around her neck like a warm, protective weight. But no images dropped into her mind. Damn. She still didn't know who'd left these threads behind or why.

  What had made that other thread so different? Why was she thinking about strings when she should be thinking about how to get her daughter back? Robin fought down the hot tears that threatened to sweep her away, and the necklace warmed against her skin. Its green glow soothed her.

  “Robin? Are you okay?”

  “Nothing happened, so you can stop worrying.” Robin stood up but kept her back to Strella to hide her disappointment. She'd thought she was finally getting somewhere with these mysterious strings, but now, she was back to square one.

  “Are you sure about that?” Strella didn't even try to hide her skepticism.

  “Yes, but I can go on ahead if this is a problem.”

  “It's not. But you do know what those things are, right?”

  Feeling like there was a stranger in her skin, Robin turned to face Strella, and the long sweeping curve of the henge stood between them. When she didn't answer, Strella did.

  “Only magical things glow.”

  Robin shook her head, not to deny that because Strella was right. Only magic gave off light. But to deny the other thing. It hung between them like an accusation.

  “I don't have any magic. I just have some things that glow.” Robin pulled up her sleeve to display three white strings on one wrist and one green one on the other. All four glowed softly against her white leather bracers.

  “Because they have magic in them. You can't deny that.”