Bound to the Beast

by Kay Berrisford

"The Wild Hunt frightened me," she murmured.

  Richard's gaze drilled into their hands, clasped together. "Tam, why do you cling to her? Have you been alone with my wife in the forest?"

  "But…but…surely the question be, why's he not dead?" Jerome prodded Richard in the ribs with his elbow. "I thought you said the fairies would slaughter him for sure. I thought that were the whole point of sending the runt into the Greenwood."

  Richard ignored him. "What happened?" he asked. "Did you claim your fairy bride?"

  "It all went horribly wrong. Sir, I beg of you—"

  "God's blood, I knew it." Richard slapped his thigh; Ann flinched. "You hid in the forest like a wretched worm under a rock. This explains everything."

  "Eh?" Jerome's boggled grunt for once echoed Tam's feelings.

  "Explains what? Sir, I am no coward. I saw the ritual through. You've got to let me explain."

  "No time, not with the Wild Hunt at large. Get in the back of the cart. We can speak on the way."

  "Richard," he protested. "I have to find Herne the Hunter. My life depends on it."

  "Herne the Hunter? You might meet him soon enough."

  He experienced a brief surge of hope. "You know where he is?"

  "The horned devil swept through the village in the wake of the Hunt. He'd have ravaged Squire Gordon's daughter, had his lad Roger not risked his neck to save her. Old Mother Gordon saw him rip her bodice from her breasts."

  No. He refused to believe Herne guilty of even threatening such a crime. "That's a lie."

  "There were several good witnesses, boy. And if that devil returns at the head of the Hunt, all England is lost. Now climb in."

  Ann jerked her hand from Tam's. "No! I won't go back there with any of you. I've tasted freedom now, and I will not give it up."

  "You will do as I say, woman." Richard slashed his horse whip, the black shining tongue slicing inches from Ann's nose. "Or you'll feel my hand on you whether you have cuckolded me with this whoreson or not."

  "What?" Ripping his mind from Herne, Tam gaped at Richard, incredulous at what he and Ann were being accused of.

  "I won't go with you," she yelled. "I don't hold with your rules anymore. I belong to somebody else."

  She backed off, stumbling over grooves in the track. Turning, she grabbed her skirts and then slid down the bank on her heels, before tumbling to her rump.

  "Ann!"

  Tam started after her. Leaping down from the cart, Richard shoved him so hard he fell back, slamming his arse into the mud. Not encumbered with petticoats, Richard gained on Ann, grabbing her about the waist to pull her up. She struggled in his grip. One fist balling in her gaping bodice, Richard slapped her across the face.

  "Have you spread your legs for my lily-livered brother, bitch?"

  "No, she hasn't," yelled Tam. "Leave her alone."

  Picking himself up, he hastened to help her, even as Jerome lumbered his way down from the cart. He grabbed Tam by the back of his shirt, and before Tam could thrust an elbow into Jerome's soft belly, the bigger brother clouted him on the back of his head. Tam crumpled to his hands and knees, nausea swelling, as did the pain in his skull.

  "Get him in the cart," demanded Richard. "And you're coming with us too, wife. Don't even think about trying to run again."

  Jerome slung Tam into wet and reeking straw. Then the cartwheels started turning, and every bump on the road set Tam's stomach heaving and made his head feel so thick with pain it might burst. Huddled beside him, Ann reached to stroke his hair.

  "Calleagh will come for us," she whispered.

  Tam hardly cared either way. Would Herne come for him? And if he did, would he prove his saviour or everybody's doom?

  *~*~*

  At the head of the hunt, Herne tore along the peak of the downs, the highest part of the Greenwood realm. Wind rattled through his antlers, plastering back his hair and blasting his body toward vigour. To his side, Godda breathed flames across hedgerows and swaying poppies, the breeze whipping the remaining clumps of her white hair so they danced as snakes. Behind him, his rushing band shrieked and revelled, tearing leaves from the trees like an autumn gale and sending clods of earth flying from the track.

  To the north, the road wound down toward Little Lyndton in the valley, with its sprawling lanes of timber, stone, and thatch and its squat grey church, not graced with a tower. He firmed his lips into a thin, hard line.

  My boy's people.

  Anguish ripped through him like a spear in his guts. Tam was his boy, whom he now let slip away.

  With a grimace, he spurred Cernunnos on, growing ever less mindful of the clamour around him. Centuries unfurled before him, empty and desolate, and he could no longer pretend he wished to face them alone. Not knowing he had not fought to the last to save Tam.

  Nothing, not even the thrill of the Hunt, could dull this pain.

  *~*~*

  The cart rumbled on through the timber cottages at the edge of the village, amid the familiar hiss of fermenting cider.

  "We're nearly back to that cursed house," murmured Ann, leaning close to Tam. Regarding her sidelong, he noted the glaring red-purple bruise blossoming on her freckled cheek. His guilt ailed his aching head. "Do you think you can run yet?"

  He'd try. With effort, he pushed himself into a sitting position to lean against the side of the cart. Watching him closely, Jerome shook his fist, then turned his back again, apparently unbothered.

  The world still spinning, Tam distinguished a burned thatch, an upturned fruit cart. Plentiful folk emerged to mutter and stare, the air as thick with anger and portent as with the smell of wood smoke and shit.

  "What going on?" whispered Ann. "Why are they looking at us?"

  Following Richard's words, Tam had his suspicions. Mother Gordon rapped the cart with her work-worn knuckles, her manner as bold as her tongue was sharp. "A pox upon thee, Richard Clayton. Your lad betrayed us; no wonder the Hunt rides."

  Shouts of agreement echoed her words, and Tam's fears burgeoned toward the truth. Returning in glory with a fairy bride? That had been his vain dream and his alone. He'd been expected to die in exchange for the fairies' blessings and luck. Even his brothers had wished it. Now that their world crumbled around them, they blamed the scapegoat who returned alive.

  "Ann," he croaked. "I'm going to jump now, and we'll try and run…although…I'll just as likely be sick. Will you help me?"

  "Too late," she replied, then shouted, "Curse thee to the devil, Richard—you scurvy son of a whore!"

  Richard didn't seem to hear. The air filled with voices. Villagers poured from every door and alley until they surrounded the cart. The blacksmith, Jessop, thumped the wooden side so heavily with his fists both the cart and his black beard shook.

  Richard threw down his reins. "I warned you, lad. Cowards must pay, although—" The carpenter's boy hurled a rock, knocking Richard's hat from his head. "Nay, damn thee all! I brought the traitor back, didn't I?" Richard jumped from the cart, using his whip to cut through the fray and rescue his mare.

  Tam could expect no salvation from Richard, and he remained hardly in a state to rescue himself or Ann, who now grabbed him, dragging him up and back as Roger Gordon clambered on the cart. She tugged Tam sideways. Jessop's swinging punch missed him by the breadth of a cat's whisker, and he tumbled back into the straw. He registered Ann still beside him, hitching her skirts high to kick the blacksmith in his belly.

  Jerome rolled backward into the cart beside him, grinning and yelling to Roger, "Let's beat the shit out of him."

  When Jerome grabbed his hair, pulling him up, Tam lost all track of Ann. Roger planted his fist in Tam's stomach, and his labour for breath consumed him. Jerome clamped his arms about Tam's throat and chest, while Roger subdued his weakly kicking legs. They bore him down from the cart, fighting off several other red-faced villagers who grabbed at their prize.

  "Never trusted him or his witch of a mother," shouted Mother Gordon. "We've seen enough souls slaughtered f
or the God of the Pope, then the God of the Crown, and they did us no worldly good. I say we cut his throat and let his blood drain for the old religion."

  Roars of approbation greeted her words, followed by a throaty scream. Mother Gordon again? Amid his struggles, Tam discerned a growl, then a vicious bark. He caught a glimpse of a large grey dog attacking the back of the mob, as if trying to break through to him.

  Dewer. Could she be with Herne?

  His hopes proved short-lived. Dewer's barks ceased, shadowed by her piercing whine. Then Roger jerked Tam's arm behind him, twisting until his bone creaked, his shoulder burned, and he thought it would rip at the socket.

  "Tie him to the market cross and burn him," yelled Roger's little sister.

  "What's fucking left of it." Jerome laughed.

  Tam retched with pain, but nobody cared. Ahead of him swirled with faces he'd known since childhood, each contorted with hatred as raw as his fear. Seeming to tire of his game, Roger gave Tam's arms a last brutal wrench and then shoved him forward so his hands and knees grazed cobbles and mud. Villagers grabbed his hair, tore his clothes into dangling shreds, and stole his shoes, for which several squabbled. He curled into a ball, shielding his head from their feet and fists. Somebody's boot bruised his ribs, and he willed his senses to fade.

  "For pity's sake, this is not the way!"

  Could that really be Richard's voice, not kind yet rising with authority against his persecutors? The church bells tolled, slamming into his ears like a hammer against copper, and the shouting burgeoned tenfold.

  "The Wild Hunt!"

  "They're coming back!"

  Still Richard knelt at his side, holding up a hand to keep the angry folk at bay. His brother looked pale, more terrified than Tam had ever seen him. Blood trickled from a wound beneath his lip.

  "Mother Gordon is right," called Richard, his voice tremulous. "Tam betrayed us. But let's leave him as an offering in exchange for our homes and our harvest." Then, in a low, choked voice only Tam could hear, he added, "I'm sorry. But I…I have no choice, little brother. This was the best I could think of, to save my farm. And maybe the Wild Hunt will spare you? A flaming pyre would show no mercy."

  Tam laughed without mirth, tasting blood in his throat. So that explained why Richard rushed him back to the village. He was offering him, either to the villagers or the Wild Hunt, in the hope of protecting his forty acres. This was the reason Richard had encouraged him to take a fairy bride in the first place.

  "I understand you well enough," he muttered. "But…do one thing for me. Let Ann go. You never loved her."

  Oh, the bitter irony. His near-last words might be for that damned fairy, Calleagh's heart's delight. Richard clambered up and turned his back. Tam's plea had been in vain, but he could not waste any more cares on those he could do nothing to help. He didn't much fancy being a saint or a martyr, and he had to try to run, had to find Herne. Mustering the last of his strength, he pushed up onto his elbows. But blackness surged in front of his eyes, and he knew no more.

  *~*~*

  The Wild Hunt hurtled toward the village amid the shouts, bells, and more clattering doors. Herne barely registered the noise.

  What had he become? A lord of vengeance, a protector of the fair folk, or a quivering coward who did not know his own will?

  But the oak and holly? The Goddess's command?

  Yes, his antlers were rampant. Yes, his blood rushed. And starkly before him, he saw the truth. He possessed no past pain to vanquish. His feelings for Crea were long dead and had been gone, he realized, for many hundred years. Tam had set his thoughts rushing back to Crea because his bond with that man was all he'd ever known of affection. Now he'd learned something new. All his pain lay in the future, if he let Tam die.

  Because he'd wrench the earth asunder with his bare hands for just one more night with Tam, and he'd tear through the realm of Niogaerst to save him. He did not care if the Goddess struck him down, but he was a lord of vengeance no more. Tam needed him.

  He reared Cernunnos, and both heads of Yorick's pig snorted.

  "Stop!" he commanded. Whipped into frenzy, the Hunt streamed on oblivious. He lifted his horn to his lips, a call they could not refuse, and then hesitated.

  If they had any sense, the people of Little Lyndton would be huddled at their hearths or in the church. He should let the Hunt ride on to founder without him. The last thing he wanted was to lead them back toward the abbey, to Tam.

  Turning Cernunnos, he urged the horse into a gallop. When he heard a familiar bark, he looked over his shoulder. Dewer tore through the Hunt and onward up the track after him, teeth bared, yapping as if a cat had bitten her tail. So she'd rediscovered her courage, as had he.

  Why now? The dog had rarely cared for any but him.

  And Tam.

  The church bell tolled. The Hunt's shouts and jeers grew fevered. Dewer snarled, baring her gums, nipping at Cernunnos's ankles. And Herne stared back toward the village.

  Tam.

  *~*~*

  When Tam's awareness of the world ebbed back, his muscles felt as weak and tender as a new-born babe's. Yet he found himself leaned upright. Forcing his head up, he regarded the empty marketplace from beneath heavy eyelids.

  Tied to the remains of the market cross with his hands fastened behind, he shivered down to the marrow of his bruised bones. He'd been stripped apart from his breeches, which were so shredded a section had fallen away at the back, and damp wood chafed his exposed buttocks.

  There proved little time to ponder his fate. His folk had fled and hid, and curse them, he well knew why. The tavern sign creaked, litter and straw whipped up, and the Wild Hunt rushed into the marketplace.

  The mutilated and maimed were living and laughing, and Tam was wretched, near-naked prey. Herne did not ride with them, as before Tam had hoped he would not. Oh, how he wished otherwise now. Herne would have pitied him, if nothing else.

  "The pretty whelp," bellowed Edric, tugging his one-eyed mule to a stop and pulling an axe from his belt. "What do they think we are? Fairies to be appeased with a meagre blood sacrifice?"

  "But Edric," pleaded Godda, at his side. "Niogaerst is always hungry for the blood of a pretty boy. Let's spill it for our master."

  For Herne? Was that what he wanted?

  Godda pulled her knife from under the folds of her shawl, and streaks of her magic sizzled through the air. Ruby-red sparks splintered the shutters of a shop. The occupants screamed within, the sound of human suffering echoed by cheers from the Hunt. The monk drew a dagger from beneath his robes. Edric slammed his axe against a mounting block, and the clang of metal against stone made Tam's ears ring.

  The Wild Hunt swarmed over the marketplace. Some hacked at brittle walls. Others set torn wattle aflame, spreading Godda's magic.

  Tam looked on as the village burned, his fear forming a pulsing knot in his throat. Starting fires had not distracted Godda for long. The witch advanced toward him, part of her papery cheek flaking off as she bent her lips into a smile.

  Then a cloaked figure on a two-headed pig barged into her, knocking her knife from her grip and sending her tumbling. Landing with a crunch on the cobbles, she shrieked, crawling after her lost weapon on her hands and knees.

  The cloaked figure dismounted and shoved all from his path until his disembodied grin filled Tam's vision.

  Yorick.

  The remnants of Tam's courage drained away like blood from a gashed vein. Edric laughed as he hacked his axe into a tavern door. "Ah, yes, this is good sport," he yelled. "Plough deep, my friend."

  Laughing and hissing, the rest of the Hunt cheered Yorick on. Even Godda rolled her single eye in resignation as Yorick reached a bony hand to stroke Tam's cheek.

  "At last," he whispered, "you're mine."

  "No," whispered Tam, but his cause grew hopeless. He wished he could faint again, but he was too scared. After everything, did he deserve this end? He drew air brokenly, and thick black smoke caught in his chest, making hi
m cough. The heat of the fire brought tears to his eyes, but he fought them, refusing to let this monster see him cry. Heavens…he'd had such hopes for his life.

  "They have tied you to the post the wrong way around, my lamb." Yorick's shrill voice tormented his aching head. "But don't fret. I will still have ye."

  "Herne!"

  Yorick's mocking laugh drowned Tam's weak shout. Yorick grabbed his arse, rammed the curve of his horn-cock against Tam's pelvis, and crushed him back against the post. Tam tasted tears on his lips, or was that blood? And against all sense, all teaching, he still clung to mad faith.

  Herne would come. He had to. Herne alone had the right to touch him. Only Herne understood him and knew what he deserved, had shown him his cravings were neither foul nor wrong, nor his alone. Goddess, and there could be no comparison between this true devil and Herne. Herne possessed a heart. And Herne possessed him.

  "You're going to take all of me, my sweeting," brayed Yorick. "The last one as pretty as you withstood much torment…before he died." For a moment, Yorick twitched his grin into a nigh regretful line, dipping his hooded head. Then he straightened and grinned, and Tam's last witless hopes fled. "But I have learned from my mistakes. You will endure even more."

  Tam's tattered breeches offered no protection. Yorick thrust against him again, bruising already injured ribs and rendering Tam barely capable of distinguishing the pounding in his head from the beat of a stallion's hooves. Then, finally, the hunting horn blasted. Yorick stilled and hissed but did not relinquish his grasp.

  "Do struggle," leered Yorick. "It's so delightful."

  "Herne! You came." Godda's cry echoed Tam's terror-stricken thoughts. "See, we can get rid of him for you. We can make the pain go away."

  Herne ignored her, jumped from his horse with a thud, and dragged Yorick away from Tam. Tam shut his eyes. The swish of Herne's sword cut dead Yorick's cry, and Tam felt the splash of cool liquid on his face. Then he stared down at a body sliced clean in two, gasping the rancid stench of an already rotted corpse.

  Herne kicked both halves of Yorick's body away and rounded on the Wild Hunt. "Who will taste my steel next?"