He raised his eyebrows in mock surprise, but wisely kept silent. I took the broadsword back from him, and we continued our practice until my arms refused to wield the heavy weapon. By the end, though, I was able to successfully apply all the techniques he taught me—not perfectly but with some proficiency. I’d always been a quick study in swordplay.
As we remounted, I swore myself to silence—in all our conversations, when had I forgotten that we might be temporary allies, but he was still an enemy?—but it was as though my mouth couldn’t obey. “The skill you have for battle,” I said, my eyes focused on Sleipnir’s mane, “it goes beyond a natural affinity for it, doesn’t it?”
I risked a glance at him and saw amusement touch the edges of his mouth. “Yes.”
“And you won’t tell me how you came to be such a superior fighter?”
“I’ll tell you when you tell me how you can use your mind to control others.”
“I can’t tell you because I don’t know.” He was quiet, and it was his silence that prompted me to offer more. “My clansmen always whispered that I was a changeling, but no one ever elaborated because my father forbade them from talking about it.”
I could feel his eyes on me. “Yours isn’t a gift of the Fae. They would never give up a child with your abilities to mere mortals.”
A strange sense of relief combined with a yawning chasm of despair overcame me. A changeling would mean that the true princess, the babe with fair hair and light eyes like the rest of my family, lived a life of uncertain future surrounded by the Fae. For so long, it had tortured me to think I had taken the place of the human child. Yet I still didn’t know where my power came from.
“Then I have no explanation for my power. It’s something I’ve lived with for many years, but I’ve never known its source.”
“A gift of the gods, then,” he said.
“There is only one God.” I said it automatically, the words as familiar to me as my own name.
“Your Christian God would never gift you with the power to kill so many men.”
“He has seen it fit to grace others before me; Father Briain has told us many tales of such men.”
He fixed me with a penetrating look. “And the kráka?”
I averted my eyes. The Morrigan had once been worshipped as a god, and may have been still. It wasn’t unusual for my people to cling to superstitions that clearly contradicted the dogma of our Christian faith, but I still couldn’t say exactly how the Morrigan fit into the belief system I’d always known.
“How you came by your power matters little,” Leif continued. “What matters is how you use it.”
I inwardly shook my head. “Why do you sound as sage as an old crone? You’re barely older than I am.” But I knew he made an excellent point. My abilities allowed me to protect the sisters I had left, which was all I truly cared about.
Again, the wind pulled and snatched at my hair, and I shoved it behind me in irritation.
“Take the reins,” Leif said, dropping them into my lap.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when I first felt his hands upon my hair. With gentle yet efficient movements, he combed my hair back from my face. His fingers were warm and strong as they brushed against my neck, and I could feel an answering warmth stir inside me. No one but my handmaiden had ever touched my hair, and having a man touch it seemed intensely intimate. A few moments of a tugging sensation, and then my hair was neatly plaited behind me.
“Thank you,” I said quietly. I reached back and felt the smooth braid. How strange that this Northman warrior should know how to do something so domestic. “How did you learn to do this?”
He retrieved the reins from my lap. “I had a sister once. She had long, unruly hair, and after our mother died, I was often called upon to help her subdue it.”
His words were matter-of-fact, but I heard the sorrowful undercurrent to his tone. I turned toward him, and our gazes caught and held. An old wound was visible in his eyes, and I felt something move inside me in answer. He had two siblings—one who had later died. The similarities between us couldn’t be ignored. An uncomfortable sensation of self-reproach roiled inside me at my earlier thoughts that he was a barbarian, beneath my notice. He was someone who had, in many ways, suffered just as much as I had.
But even as I felt my thoughts soften toward him, I heard the screams of my clansmen, saw Alana’s blood pour down her neck.
I cleared my throat softly. “How did she die?”
“She was murdered,” he said. The pain and wrath in his voice was so apparent that I flinched.
I couldn’t stop my reply, not when I knew exactly what he was feeling. “I, too, lost a sister.”
The same emotions seemed to flit across Leif’s face, and so when he asked the inevitable question, I almost didn’t want to answer him for fear of breaking the fragile friendship we’d created.
“How?” he asked.
“She was murdered,” I answered, stealing his words. I turned around to look at him again.
He searched my face for a moment and found the answer there in the set of my jaw, in the shifting of my gaze. Thankfully he didn’t force me to say it: that it was his own people who had killed her.
Thunder rumbled directly overhead, and I glanced up sharply.
Distracted by our conversation, I hadn’t noticed the state of the weather around us. The wind had blown in a massive dark cloud, which loomed ominously above us. Unpredictable and rapidly changing weather wasn’t unusual for Éirinn, but it seemed to happen the most when shelter wasn’t available.
A torrent of rain released itself upon us, penetrating our cloaks and garments almost instantly, so they lay wet and flush against us.
Leif urged Sleipnir into a gallop toward a thick forest of towering oak and ash trees. A cave would be more welcome, but at least the leaves would filter some of the rain. The cold water ran in rivers down my face, chilling me until my teeth chattered.
As we galloped to the shelter of the wood, the muddy ground revealed a set of tracks left by animals with paws as big as Sleipnir’s hooves. Much bigger than wolves. The hair on the back of my neck stood up.
My heart pounded in my chest. Turn back, my instincts screamed at me.
I shouted at Leif to stop, that we must turn back, but he could not hear me over the roar of the storm.
We made it to the forest, the trees filtering some of the rain, at least to the point that I could hear again. From deep within the forest came a small sound. Leif brought Sleipnir to a halt, and I strained to hear. The baying of hounds, followed by the low tones of a hunting horn.
My eyes widened in terror. “Move. We must leave now.” The words tumbled out in a panicked rush.
“What ghoulish Gaelic creature is after us now?” Leif asked. There was more amusement to his tone than the dire situation warranted.
“Those sounds are the Wild Hunt, and if we’re discovered, if we’re even scented, we’ll be hunted down and slaughtered like sheep.”
Every nerve, every instinct within me was on fire with the need to escape.
Leif snorted and tightened his hold on me, urging Sleipnir once again into a gallop. “You also said the each-uisce couldn’t be killed,” he shouted above Sleipnir’s hoofbeats. “Who is hunting us?”
The hair-raising sound of the baying grew still closer, until even Sleipnir snorted with terror. The path between the trees grew narrower and narrower. Twigs and branches grabbed at our sodden clothes. The fear within me grew to such colossal proportions that it developed a taste. It tasted like blood.
“Another of the Tuatha Dé Danann, Flidais,” I said grimly. “She is a protector of wild animals and hunts humans for sport, but it’s strange to encounter her during the day.”
I remembered the tales of the Wild Hunt—mostly stories to frighten children from wandering the forests alone, but they had clung to the recesses of my mind. The victims were herded into another realm, one from which there was no escape. The forest of the hunt was never-e
nding, the trees themselves aiding the hunter in trapping the prey. The hounds varied, from wolves to dog-boar hybrids, but always they tore the prey into pieces so small there was nothing left for even carrion birds.
With riotous barking to announce their presence, the hellhounds burst from the trees. They were enormous, almost as big as Sleipnir. I risked a glance as we raced on, only to see nothing but hideous creatures with yellow eyes, their coats the color of rotten leaves. One launched itself at us, sharp teeth snapping. Leif wrenched the reins to the right and used Sleipnir’s powerful shoulder to slam the hound into a wide oak. Sleipnir tossed his head, the whites of his eyes nearly all I could see.
Leif wheeled Sleipnir around to where we’d entered the forest, and one of the hounds almost caught its strong jaw around Sleipnir’s leg, but Sleipnir flew over it as though he had wings.
His hooves thundered across the muddy terrain, sending torrents of water up in his wake, and still the hounds closed in. They howled and snapped at Sleipnir’s haunches, staying on him even as he zigzagged to avoid them.
We burst free of the forest only to find ourselves herded toward another copse of trees. Only this time, as we galloped closer, I realized this wasn’t an ordinary forest. The tops of the trees had bowed over and entwined with each other on either side of a wide path, until they formed a tunnel made up of gnarled branches and leaves.
A deafening silence fell upon us as soon as Sleipnir entered the tunnel, as though the rain had cleared in an instant. The sounds of the hounds disappeared, but I sensed that we were far from safety. When I looked behind us, the torrent still fell, everywhere but over the forest entrance. I shuddered.
Sleipnir flicked his ears back and began to back up, but he was soon met with resistance.
I leaned forward and rubbed his neck in an effort to soothe him, though I was as terrified as he. “There is no use going back now. We have entered the Faerie Tunnel, and we will only be able to leave if and when it suits them.”
“If we cannot go back, then we must continue on,” Leif said, nudging a reluctant Sleipnir forward.
The eerie silence of the forest, completely absent of chirping birds, small animals moving through the underbrush, or even insects buzzing, filled me with as much dread as the howling of wolves. The fall of Sleipnir’s hooves seemed like the loud banging of drums in comparison, and I scanned the trees for any sign of life as we passed.
I couldn’t help but fear we’d been herded directly into a trap.
9
As we raced deeper into the forest with no way of knowing our direction, or if we would ever find our way out, the fear in me grew until it was as though fear itself was another monster that raced alongside us. I gripped Sleipnir’s mane with whitened hands, and my heart thundered along to the sound of his hooves. When I glanced back at Leif, it made me even more afraid to see his face pale. He wrapped one arm around me, and the muscles were so tight it felt like stone.
The trees blurred by, but as I concentrated, I caught flashes of faces in the trees. They seemed to be part of the tree trunks, as though the trees themselves were alive: a white ash with the face of an old crone, an enormous oak tree with a slim face like a nymph, a haggard tree with gnarled, twisting branches forming a frightening face. And lights, blue lights in the trees. They danced merrily, enticingly. Will-o’-the-wisps, I was sure, to lead us astray, or even back toward the hunt.
For indeed, the baying had grown closer again, and Sleipnir snorted in fear. That same fear reached into my chest and grabbed hold, leaving ice in its place.
Where before us there were trees, now suddenly a rock wall rose out of the forest, blocking our path. Leif pulled Sleipnir to a sliding halt and threw himself from his back. I followed, taking up the same wide-legged defensive stance as Leif. We both stood together, pale and already panting for breath. Leif managed to shove away his fear first; he unsheathed the broadsword, and I pulled my dagger from beneath my cloak as soon as I’d steadied my breath. Holding the sword before him with both hands, Leif took a step in front of me.
With a growl of frustration, I moved away from him. “If you’re so concerned for my safety, then give me my sword, you fool,” I snapped.
He spared me the briefest of glances. “I can kill these creatures much faster with it—and keep us both alive.”
The hounds burst out of the cover of the trees, stalking closer to us with bristly hackles raised. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Leif raise the broadsword. Just as the lead hounds gathered themselves to leap at our throats, the ones at the rear yipped and barked excitedly. Like well-trained soldiers, they parted down the middle and stood at attention, allowing their leader to pass through.
A white stag, its antlers as sharp as daggers, leveled its gaze at us. Despite its male appearance, it was a female voice that resonated from it—and from all around us. It echoed from the trees and reverberated into our minds.
“I’m afraid you’ve found yourselves as prey for the Wild Hunt.” The voice was softly menacing, beautiful and terrible all at once. “My hounds have herded you like sheep into my realm, and there is no escape.”
I sensed the minds of all the creatures before us—feral and desperate for the kill. Beyond those minds, though, was a mind of a being so staggeringly powerful, I couldn’t hope to breach it. The stag’s mind made Leif’s mental wall seem like a thin sheet of parchment. It was a fortress, a mountain—untouchable. There was something about the sheer awesome power of it that reminded me of the Morrigan. I probed harder, and the moment my mind touched hers, the voice let out an angry hiss.
A howling wind came from nowhere, and the forest darkened. The stag narrowed its eyes at Leif. “You have the same look about you as those abominations—those giants from the north who stomp all over this land, killing as they go, while you mortals do nothing. All the ancient creatures of Éirinn have been stirred free of their places of rest—each-uisces from their rivers, sluaghs from their forests and shores, even the Faerie Tunnel you find yourself trapped in—responding to their tainted presence.”
Her words turned my blood to ice. She had seen the jötnar? My surprise broke my silence. “The giants—have you fought them? Where did you see them?” Pray not Mide. Surely we hadn’t been gone long enough.
The stag lowered its head, its sharp antlers pointed toward us threateningly. “You dare question me? As though I am merely a mortal peasant for you to command?” Her words triggered the hounds to growl again, until the woods were filled with the sound of snarling. “I may not be able to hunt the abominations from the north in the mortal realm, but you are in my realm now.” The stag reared, and the hounds’ eyes glittered as they stalked toward us.
My hand tightened on my dagger. Fear again settled upon me like a great bird of prey, but I pushed past it and centered myself. I couldn’t take control of the owner of the voice, but I might be able to grab hold of one of the hounds. I grasped for the mind of the creature closest to me, and once I connected, I nearly pulled myself free immediately, as the hound was picturing in vivid detail what it would feel like to rend my flesh, and to drink my blood while it was freshly flowing. Despite the horror of its black thoughts, I held on. The hound stopped in its advance, shaking its head wildly as though it might throw me from its mind. I pushed harder, bending its will to my own.
It broke under the force of my onslaught, capitulating to my desire to have it fight for me instead of the voice of the stag. Before one of other hounds could make the first leap for my throat, my chosen champion turned on it, sinking its teeth into the unsuspecting neck of the hound beside it.
Though I’d been spared for now, a massive hound launched itself at Leif, who immediately cut it down with the sword. Two more replaced the first, but I could no longer track Leif’s battle. Another hound, eyes glittering with malice, attacked me from the side. Its jaw snapped mere inches from my throat. I slashed with my dagger while simultaneously summoning my hound with enough force to make it lunge for my attacker, sending it slamm
ing into the rocks behind us.
Another hound replaced the first with a vicious snarl. Before I could even take a breath, it launched itself at me. I deflected it as best I could with my dagger—catching it in its neck. It struggled wildly, leaving long scratches from my ribs to my hip. I cried out in pain but still held on until it collapsed. Panting, I turned to the next threat. Two stalked toward me, their muscles bunching. The hound I controlled cut them off before they could attack, and then they were growling and snapping and tearing at one another, the sound as loud and terrible as war.
Leif moved closer to me with every kill, the pile of dead hounds in his wake growing exponentially. His every movement was a fatal blow—no wasted effort. He was fast and he was strong, slicing the sword through multiple hounds as though they were as insubstantial as blades of grass. His fighting ability went beyond merely skilled and entered into the realm of inhuman.
And then, the worst possible outcome. The hound I controlled fell, its mind plunging into darkness as though a candle had been blown out.
The hounds that had killed it came at me.
I sank into a defensive position, balancing my weight on the balls of my feet. One feinted left as the other sprang, its heavy paws hitting me square in the chest. I was knocked to my back, and my head slammed onto one of the rocks. Darkness followed, and I blinked rapidly as the hound’s fetid breath felt hot upon my face. My vision returned, but the world spun around me.
I shook myself free of my daze and grabbed the hound’s throat, pushing against it from my prostrate position. Yellow teeth snapped inches from me. Its claws struggled for purchase against my leather chest piece. I couldn’t get my hand free to stab it with my dagger. Desperately, I reached for its mind.
Leif shouted my name through the heavy sounds of the hounds he was defeating. Still, I knew he wouldn’t reach me in time—I pushed past my own terror and flagging strength and grabbed hold of the hound’s mind. The hound’s teeth snapped closer; the muscles in my arms screamed with the effort of keeping it from tearing into my throat.
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