by Jim C. Hines
“In here,” Roudette shouted. The first one through the doorway was a young man with a splinted arm. Roudette pointed to the back. “Keep running.”
He vanished through the rear doorway. Four others tore through the gardens, and then the hunter appeared.
Flanked by his hounds, he could have passed for human. A bronze helm fringed with black horsehair masked his face. He held a spear with a leaf-shaped point in one hand. Fresh blood darkened the tip.
Swirls of blue, either painted or tattooed, decorated his bare chest. His loose blue trousers were bound at the knees. A bone-handled knife hung on one hip, a bronze-rimmed horn on the other.
The dogs wore neither collars nor leashes, though they appeared to strain at invisible bonds. Long- legged and lean, their ears flat, they growled at Roudette. Their eyes had a faint blue-green glow, barely visible in the moonlight.
Joy surged through Roudette’s heart as she charged the hunter. His dogs raced to intercept her. She saw Talia launching herself from the shadows, silent as the darkness.
Roudette swung at the dog on her right, the iron weight of her hammer crushing the animal’s shoulder. The other dog slammed into her. She fell, releasing her weapon and digging both hands into the dog’s throat. She kicked her legs into its ribs and hurled it through the air to land in the pond behind her.
The hunter had dodged Talia’s first attack. He pushed her back with his spear, then grabbed the horn from his belt. As he raised it to his lips, Talia knocked his spear aside and kicked high. Her foot cracked the horn and knocked several teeth from his mouth.
“Try blowing that thing now,” Talia said, breathing hard.
Roudette grinned and turned her attention back to the dogs. She finished off the wounded one first, stomping his skull. She picked up the body and tossed it at the second dog, knocking it to the ground.
Talia was on the defensive now. Her speed and reflexes were fairy-blessed, but this was a fairy hunter. She parried every attack, but the man was impossibly fast. Each time she tried to strike, the spear lashed out like a serpent. Talia shifted her weight, and the spearpoint cut her thigh. A second thrust tore the sleeve of her robe.
“I’ll deal with the hound. You help Talia!” The voice came from Danielle, who stood on the far side of the garden, glass sword in her hands. Danielle stared at the remaining dog, her forehead wrinkled in concentration. “Come to me.”
The idiot! This was no common mutt. The dog was already charging toward Danielle. Even if she tried to flee, the animal was too fast. It leaped, jaws bared.
Snow stepped from the shadows, one hand to her lips. She blew, and dark splinters flew out to strike the dog.
Danielle twisted aside as the animal crumpled to the ground, whimpering in pain.
Roudette laughed and picked up her hammer. “Forget the princess and face me, you fairy-cursed bastard.”
The fight ended quickly after that. Roudette wasn’t certain who landed the final blow. Talia was the one who cut the hunter’s hand and wrested the spear from his grip, but it was Roudette who smashed his knee, knocking him to the ground. She thought her hammer struck an instant before Talia’s sword, but she couldn’t be certain.
Talia kicked the fallen spear away.
“He’s dead,” said Roudette. “I can smell it.” She scratched her arm, then flinched. Pushing back her sleeve exposed bloody gouges from one of the dogs. She hadn’t even noticed.
Talia was pressing a hand over the cut on her thigh. “Will there be more?”
“I hope so.” Roudette licked her lips. The magic of the wolfskin was more intoxicating than any drink. Having tasted blood, she wanted more. She stepped toward the doorway, the cries from beyond the temple walls tugging her forward. With her strength and Talia’s speed, how many more hunters could they destroy before the sun returned? The wolf cared nothing for her plans, wanting only to punish those who had hurt them.
“Soon,” she whispered, forcing herself to turn away from the screams.
Talia hurried through the garden toward Danielle. “What were you thinking? What would you have done if Snow’s little darts hadn’t stopped that thing?”
Danielle ignored her. Her attention was on the hound, still writhing from whatever Snow had done to it. “What’s happening to him?”
Roudette wiped gore from her hammer, then walked over to join the others. The dog was whimpering and biting his side. Foam dripped from his jowls. He tried to stand, only to collapse again.
“What did you do?” Talia asked.
“The spell is the same one I used on Roudette’s wolves,” Snow said. “This country doesn’t have a lot of pines, so I used a handful of thorns from the vineyard instead.”
The vines which had come from the fairy hedge. Without a word, Roudette swung her hammer, ending the dog’s torment.
“Are you all right?” Khardija stood in the doorway. She appeared shaken, but her voice was firm.
Talia jabbed a sword at the hound. “This is why you should destroy that thing. The thorns retain their curse. They kept the animal alive, tormenting it but refusing to let it die, just as they did to the princes.”
Khardija turned to face the other sisters who had gathered behind her in the hallway, as though Khardija could shield them from the horrors that had invaded Jahrasima. “See if anyone else was hurt, and do what you can to calm our guests. Reassure them the danger has passed for now.” She waited until they had left before addressing Talia. “The danger has passed?”
“For tonight,” said Roudette. She cocked her head, listening as the howls echoed through the city. “They’ll return tomorrow night, and it won’t take them long to discover where this one fell. I’d make sure this place was empty by then.”
“We can’t,” said Khardija. “Some of our patients are too ill to move.”
Roudette shrugged. “Then they’ll die.”
“Mind your tone,” Talia snapped.
Roudette bared her teeth. One hand went to her hammer before she caught herself. With the wolf’s rage still upon her, it was all she could do to pry her hand free. She wanted to fight, and to hell with Snow’s curse.
“I’m sorry, Mother.” Talia’s voice dripped anger and guilt. “They came for me. I didn’t realize—”
“The temple will survive,” Khardija said firmly. “If not this one, then the others throughout Arathea. We will move those patients we can and do our best to protect the rest.”
“You can’t,” Roudette whispered. “You can’t stop the Hunt. None of you can.”
But Roudette could. With Talia’s help. Very soon now, she would.
Once the initial panic passed, the sisters dealt with the aftermath of the attack as calmly and efficiently as Talia expected. By the time you had worked here a month, dealing with crises of every variety, you learned to push your immediate reactions aside in order to treat the injuries before you. Talia remembered the first time she learned that lesson, the night a man had walked up the path with a carving knife protruding from his skull.
Faziya had led the man into the temple as if she saw such wounds every day. She packed bandages around the blade and sent Talia to fetch one of the senior sisters. It was only later that day, after the man had died and Faziya was alone with Talia, that Faziya had allowed herself the luxury of fear and grief.
Emotion could wait. For now, the sisters tended the injuries left by the hunter and did their best to calm the temple’s guests. The hunter’s body was brought to the back of the temple, where it would be stripped and burned tomorrow along with the three people he had killed, including one of the sisters.
Talia knew they were right. Nothing could be done tonight, not with hunters still roaming the city. She did her best to imitate Mother Khardija’s steadiness as she returned to her room.
Talia raised an eyebrow at the sight of three temple cats outside the door. As she approached, one of the cats darted inside. Talia peeked through the curtains to see Danielle scratching the cat’s neck. “Our guardia
ns are your doing, I assume?”
Danielle whispered to the cat, who arched his back, then sauntered out to join his fellows. “The others are atop the walls. If another hunter approaches the temple, they’ll let us know.”
Talia drew her sword, sat with her back to the wall, and began to inspect the blade. The edge had chipped where she struck the hunter’s spear. She dug a small whetstone from her pocket and set to work. Without looking up, she said, “How do you know about the Wild Hunt?”
Roudette cocked her head, listening as a hound howled in the distance. “It was a fairy hunter who found my grandmother. He cut this wolfskin from her body while I watched, hidden in the closet.”
Talia flipped the sword and began to work the other side of the blade. “Has anyone ever fought them and lived?”
“Individual hunters like tonight, yes.” Roudette’s upper lip pulled back. “It makes no difference. They’ll replace the man we killed. They always do. If you’re thinking of trying to defend the temple, you’d be better off falling on that sword of yours.”
Danielle leaned forward. “How do they replace their fallen companions?”
“The fairy church believes a man’s death is ordained from the moment of his birth. Decreed by God himself.” Roudette leaned back, resting her eyes. This was the calmest Talia had ever seen her, as though killing the hunter had allowed her to truly relax. “Most of those struck by a hunter’s blade fall dead as you’d expect, but a few live on, joining the Hunt. Those are the ones whose time hasn’t yet come. They accompany the Wild Hunt until they reach the end of their allotted days.”
“The man we fought tonight?” Snow asked.
Roudette smiled. “The church would tell you it was God’s will his life ended on this day. We were merely instruments of God.”
Talia didn’t dignify that with a response.
“Where did they come from?” asked Snow. “The stories I’ve heard say the Wild Hunt was cursed to ride for all time, but every curse can be broken.”
“Not this one,” said Roudette. “Some say the leader of the Hunt is one of the old gods, fallen from power. Others believe him to be a mortal king who insulted a fairy lord and was cursed for his rudeness. The church describes them as servants of God, sent forth to harvest the souls of the damned. They say Arathea has fallen into sin, and the Hunt is God’s punishment. Until tonight, the Hunt has mostly been attacking the Kha’iida tribes, avoiding the cities.”
“Kha’iida?” asked Danielle.
“Nomads,” said Talia, thinking of Faziya. Few Kha’iida ever left their tribes. Faziya had never spoken of her reasons for turning her back on her people.
Snow pulled a mirror from her choker and concentrated. Her face brightened. “Beatrice! Is Trittibar around? The Wild Hunt is after Talia, and we could use some help figuring out how to fight them.”
“You’ve been gone less than a day,” Beatrice protested. “How in the name of—no, I don’t want to know. Is everyone all right?”
While Snow consulted with Beatrice, Talia turned back to Roudette. “I won’t let the Hunt destroy this place.”
“You speak as though you have a choice,” Roudette said, her expression distant. “My cape will hide you for the moment, but now that the Wild Hunt has marked you as their prey, they will find you, and they will destroy everything in their path until they do.”
“If Zestan has the power to set the Hunt on my trail, she can also turn them away.” Talia held her sword to the lamp’s light, studying the edge. “All we have to do is find her and persuade her.”
CHAPTER 10
THE CAPE NEVER WORKED IN HER DREAMS.
Roudette stood at the edge of the woods. Three steps would take her beyond the trees to the road, but she couldn’t bring herself to move.
Fire had torn open the sky, and the riders thundered forth like the vanguard of Hell. Their dogs howled as they raced ahead. Their cries never wavered; the beasts of the Wild Hunt never drew breath. Roudette covered her ears, trying in vain to block the sound. Urine spread down her thighs.
Windows and doors swung open. A few brave souls stepped outside to see what was happening.
“Don’t run.” Her voice wouldn’t carry. She tried again, but fear had stolen her voice. She could only watch as they turned to flee, only to be run down.
The first to fall was Vaughan, an older man and a hunter in his own right. He raised a short wooden bow, but before he could draw the string, an arrow punched through his mouth.
His death spread panic through the village. Roudette’s friends and neighbors poured from their homes like rats fleeing a fire. One by one, the Hunt chased them down.
Roudette pulled the wolfskin over her shoulders, but nothing happened. She had to reach her family. She had to save Jaun. The rest would die, but she could still save her brother. She could see herself dragging him into the woodpile, protecting him with her body as she deliberately pulled the firewood down about their heads. Somehow she had sensed that the Wild Hunt lived for the chase, that if they tried to run, the Hunt would chase them down.
Only the wolfskin had no power in her dreams, and her body wouldn’t obey.
And then she was in a different town, close to the border. She and Jaun cowered in the chapel, listening to the howling that had never really stopped since that night a month before when the Wild Hunt destroyed their home.
“They’re after me,” Roudette whispered, pulling the skin around her body. She had finished sewing the fur to her cape that very afternoon, combining the power of her grandmother’s gift with the protections woven into the cape. “I’ll lead them away.”
“Don’t go.” Jaun’s filthy hand clamped around hers.
“No matter what happens, don’t try to flee.”
“Don’t leave him!” Her dreamself heard nothing but the hounds as she set out into the night.
Gentle shaking jolted her awake. She gasped and slapped Danielle’s hand away.
“You cried out in your sleep.”
Roudette dug her fingers into the cape, feeling the wolf’s strength, letting its anger and hunger wash over her. She closed her eyes, listening to the howls from the street. The sound never stopped. “I thought they had come for me.”
For a month the Wild Hunt had pursued them. Roudette had killed one of their number, and she believed they meant to avenge that death, but revenge was human. They cared only for finishing the hunt, and that night they had come for Jaun. “They never tire. They never stop, and they will kill anyone who comes between them and their prey.”
“So how do you survive?” asked Danielle.
Roudette bared her teeth. “Become the hunter, not the prey.”
Talia found Mother Khardija in the garden, working by the light of the moon to pinch undersized blooms from a row of fire lilies.
“Everything we grow serves one of two purposes,” she said as Talia entered. “Food or medicine. Food we can buy in the market if we must, but medicine . . .” She turned in a slow circle. “Should anything happen to this garden, it would take months to regrow. Do we harvest everything tonight, though many of the plants are too young, or do we leave them alone and hope no harm comes to them?”
Talia crouched by a small flower with long orange leaves. “How many people have you treated for addiction to ruquq leaf? Leave those plants unguarded, and every flower will be stolen before nightfall.” She stood. “Harvest the plants that would do harm in the wrong hands. As for the rest, take enough to see you through four days. That gives you time to contact the other temples, and they can send what medicines you need.”
“A wise solution, Princess.” Mother Khardija’s smile made Talia suspect she had already decided to do exactly as Talia suggested. “Arathea has need of such wisdom.”
“What wisdom is there in waiting here to die?” Talia asked. “The Wild Hunt will kill you if you stay.”
Khardija sighed. “Jenx el-Barhud is four years old. He was burned in a fire three nights ago. Here we can use salves and p
otions to keep him asleep, but the slightest movement cracks open the wounds.” She turned, peering at the wall of the garden as though she could see through the bricks to the people beyond. “In room three a Kha’iida woman named Risha lies motionless, her back broken in two places. The journey here left her paralyzed. To move her again risks her death. There are others in similar conditions. Would you have me abandon them to the Hunt?”
“You can’t protect them all,” Talia protested.
“Perhaps. There are stories in which the Hunt spares those with the courage to face them.”
“No.” Talia stood, fighting the urge to shake her. “You can’t trust your life to a story.”
Mother Khardija brushed her hands together, signaling the end of a conversation. “How is your leg?”
“I’m fine. Snow stitched the cut.”
“And your friend, the one who was bitten?”
Talia sighed. “She’s not my friend, and she tended her own wound.”
“Animal bites are particularly dangerous,” Khardija said. “Ask one of the sisters for a poultice of—”
“Why did Faziya leave the temple, Mother?”
She turned away. “You know the temple requires no oaths. Anyone is free to leave at any time. Your friend is Kha’iida. It’s in her nature to wander.”
It stung to think Mother Khardija would lie to her. “Faziya spent eight years of her life in this temple. This was her home. The only time she left was to attend church.”
“There are aspects of fairy beliefs that always appealed to her.”
“I know.” How many times had they fought over Faziya’s loyalty to the fairy church? “She saved my life, Mother. You healed my body, but she’s the one who helped me to find myself.”
“By turning you into a criminal,” snapped Mother Khardija. “Pranks in the kitchen are one thing, but Faziya and her rebel friends nearly got you killed.”
“I was already dead,” Talia answered. “Those people gave me a reason to live.”