“Tomorrow we’ll start our journey onward,” Maurie said. “My normal drive to Drakauragh takes several days. We can follow Derrick’s path to save time, but we will inevitably face dangers that you will need to be prepared for along the way. Of course the terrain throughout will be rough, we’ll need to leave the van here and ride horseback. I hope you all know how.”
Charlie seemed to be the only one who hadn’t ever ridden a horse before.
“It’s alright, you’ll learn quickly enough tomorrow.”
“We’ll start early,” warned Priest. “We should get some rest before dawn comes.”
“When the sun rises, so should our hearts and minds,” Chen said, though no one could tell if he was agreeing or simply speaking riddles.
Maurie nodded. “I’ll show you to your quarters then.”
The McHugh farm was vast. You could tell the family had done well for themselves throughout the ages. The main house had three floors and two wings. Maurie sent the menfolk off to the second floor, and the ladies to the third. There was no electricity in the house, so they all might have found it relatively easy to fall asleep without modern distractions, if only their minds were not consumed with the journey ahead. Only Priest, Maurie, and Chen, the three oldest and the most experienced of the Hunters, fell asleep quickly.
The night wind battered the house, otherwise silent but for the occasional creak of old wood. Grasses swayed in the wind, sometimes dancing, sometimes entangling each other so it seemed like a whip duel. Animals snored and whinnied in their respective places—the dog on the floor of the barn, horses and cows in their stables, sheep asleep in their pen.
An animal cry ripped through the night, breaking the peaceful slumber over the farm and mansion. Doors opened and footsteps echoed through the halls as everyone came together and counted heads on the second floor.
“What was that?” asked Darcy.
Maurie placed a finger to her lips. “Hush for a moment, child.”
The cry had ended, replaced by a chorus of frightened whinnies and squeals.
“It’s outside, ma’am,” Marcus whispered, watching her carefully. He eyed Dräng, suspicious. “Something is attacking the animals.”
Chapter 3: The Road to Drakauragh
Fish looked at the mangled animal hanging in the tree and sighed. What type of monster were they dealing with here?
“It goes to the street,” Dink said quietly.
Fish nodded solemnly, placing the dead mammal, whatever it had been, in the trash bag and moving on to the next one, and the next one after that, and then a small squirrel that was just barely recognizable. The trail of animals stopped on the sidewalk, in between two streetlamps. Fish grabbed the last of the twisted bodies from where it lay and placed it in the bag, cinching it closed. He looked at the street, which ended in a cul-de-sac, scanning each house with a growing worry.
“He must be runnin’ around the neighborhood. You go right and I go left?” asked Dink.
Fish shook his head.
“No. I think it’s best we stick together this time. I don’t like the looks of this one. Those animals weren’t killed for food. They were killed for fun.”
Dink listened to his friend and nodded solemnly.
“What evil has come to Hunter’s Grove, Dink?”
“Not sure, but we need to follow these and follow who or what it leads to. You go first.”
The stables grew louder as they approached, the simple brown and white of wood and paint garish under their flashlight beams. The lock on the doors was broken, and the doors themselves ajar.
“Should I go first?” Dräng whispered to Lisa.
Charlie, who had overheard, shook his head, remembering how Marcus had looked at him.
“Let them go,” he said. “This is their house.”
Maurie grunted and shoved the doors open with more strength than she appeared to have. Their lights scoured the inside of the stables, but from the doorway they couldn’t see any of the animals. Only after moving forward could they see horses, cows, and sheep crowded near the far walls of their stalls. A smear of blood ran through the building, staining and dragging the hay on the floor toward the back right.
They became aware of a smacking and crunching, and a sudden chill running through the air, which made them grip their weapons tighter. Dräng, who had spent his life around such sounds, grew somber.
The group of Hunters moved forward with caution. They reached the stall where the blood trail started. The doors were ripped off their hinges. Inside, a horse stood pressed into a corner, eyes wide and white, blood speckled from its nose to its flank. At the sight of the Hunters, the horse apparently felt safe enough to move from its comfort zone, as it bounded forward and ran out the stable door to safety.
“No monster could have gotten through the wards—” Aisling began with tears in her eyes, looking at the blood spattered room. Maurie silenced her with an outturned palm. She glanced at Dräng, but obviously he wasn’t the one causing the horrid sounds from farther back.
The other animals quieted some at the presence of their masters. One horse came forward and Aisling smoothed back the fur on its nose. Charlie took pity on her. She was the one who cared for these animals. To see them hurt must have been upsetting to her.
“Stay here,” he whispered.
Aisling looked at him with wide eyes, then to the blood trail, and nodded.
The group continued without her, weapons at ready. They fanned out, turning the corner. What they came upon in the back of the barn appalled them.
A man was on his hands and knees with his back to them. His face was lowered to a horse that was limp but shaking. Although they couldn’t see for the shadow the man cast, they knew he was eating the dead animal.
The flashlights must have startled him, for he wheeled around and snarled at them. His irises were a cherry red, and his nails long and black. There were claw marks on his cheek, and bandages on his shoulder.
Darcy gasped. It was the pilot.
“I was afraid of this,” said Maurie. She stripped off her gloves, curling her fingers.
The pilot growled, something between human and wolf, but not quite either. He charged and, to their surprise, Maurie stepped forward to meet him. She grabbed his flailing arms, her hands becoming black and blue, like they were being bruised instantaneously. The wolf-man tried to claw at her, but missed. He wobbled where he stood, then began to cough. His entire body shook and he fell to the ground, moaning.
“I should have kept a closer eye on him.”
“What happened?” asked Nash. “I thought he was recovering?”
“He must have died in the night—perhaps the wound was too much for him. With the moon so close to being full, his transition has been sped up. He’ll soon turn into a full-fledged wolf.”
“But he’s not a wolf yet. Isn’t there something we can do to stop the transformation?” asked Lisa.
“No,” said Maurie. “Once a person dies from a wolf’s bite there is nothing you can do to help the victim. They are gone.”
“Wait!” Derrick said, turning pale. “Th-there is one that might be able to help him. The Curse Eater.”
Lisa turned to him like a hawk. “What is a Curse Eater?”
Priest shook his head. “There are still Curse Eaters running around?”
“Not many,” Maurie answered. “Only a handful around the world.”
“What is a Curse Eater?” Lisa asked again, louder this time.
Everyone paused. Dräng’s ears lowered.
Maurie frowned. “Young lady, is there any particular reason you are asking?”
Lisa looked down. “I just want to know. I…I collect knowledge.”
That she collected knowledge—while true—was unconvincing for the current situation, but Priest answered nonetheless.
“A Curse
Eater is someone born with a very rare gift. As rare as the Sight.”
“Even more so, these days,” interjected Maurie.
“This person,” Priest continued, “has the ability to consume magic. They have been used as town healers of sorts, eating magic of ill intent placed upon other humans. The effect upon themselves can be deadly.”
“So it is possible to reverse the curse,” Lisa said in a half whisper. “Where is this Curse Eater?”
“He’s in Drakauragh,” muttered Derrick. “He helps who he can in town, tries to lessen the witches’ influence. Our town has always been plagued by witches.”
“Then how do we get him there?” Nash asked, jerking a thumb at the pilot.
Suddenly the man jumped up, throwing Maurie aside. His teeth had lengthened, and the hair on his arms and torso had thickened noticeably. A black tribal tattoo, like sickly Celtic knots, seemed to be spreading slowly over his skin, starting from beneath his bandaged shoulder.
Priest and Chen attacked. Their weapons hit home—Priest’s sword got stuck in the man’s shoulder and Chen’s rope dart pierced his abdomen—but the werewolf kept coming. The third strike was a spear, which lodged itself into the werewolf’s heart.
“I’m sorry,” Charlie said without remorse as the pilot fell backward. “But I don’t think we could have kept him safe on the way to Drakauragh.”
The others watched Charlie with concern on their faces.
“You’re probably right, boy,” said Priest, panting. He was torn between praising Charlie’s resolve and quick thinking, and sending the boy off to get his head checked—he was far too young to have to make that kind of decision.
Having heard the ruckus, Aisling and Marcus rushed to Maurie. The old woman was uninjured, but shaken and tired. She proposed they all go back to sleep, which was agreed upon as a good idea.
Although, no one actually got anymore sleep that night.
It was morning, but the sun had not even risen yet. After a light breakfast of scrambled hen’s eggs and fresh milk, the group set out to Drakauragh, carrying only what they needed upon the steeds that Maurie had helped them choose. A fretful granddaughter chased her grandmother from the stables, carrying a bag in one limp arm.
“But Gran, I should go with you!”
“No, Aisling, you should not.”
“I know it will be dangerous. I can handle myself.”
“The road to Drakauragh is unlike anything you can imagine, my dear. Please. Stay here.”
“I’ve been there before,” Aisling said, crossing her arms and pouting.
Maurie wheeled on her. “No! You went once, as a child, when the moon had fully waned and the Dark Prince had two thirds of the monsters prisoner to his magic. You have not been to this Drakauragh, Aisling.”
Seeing the tears brimming in her granddaughter’s eyes, Maurie sighed, leaning against her horse wearily.
Marcus patted Aisling reassuringly on the shoulder. “I will take care of her, ma’am. You needn’t worry.”
“I do worry,” said Maurie, raising her eyebrows. “I fear she’ll have driven you mad by the time we get back.”
“I have survived you, have I not?”
The old woman cackled at that. “That be true enough. Now, Aisling. Stay here with Marcus. Take care of the animals. Keep the house clean.”
Maurie kissed Aisling on the forehead and pulled herself up onto her horse—a roan beauty named Shee. The grace with which this squat, cantankerous woman mounted her horse put the others to shame as they clawed their way up the sides of their own beasts.
Aisling watched them with a fiery look in her eyes. They softened on Charlie. “Be strong,” she said with a momentary smile.
He nodded, already a mix of fear and anticipation and excitement in his gut. He was concerned. Just starting their journey to Drakauragh and they were already this tired. And there would be no magic from the Otherworld to help them survive, unlike when they faced the Dark Prince. This time, they would be in the human world until Drakauragh merged with the Otherworld…and then it would be too late.
Despite his nervousness, he smiled back at her, a warm feeling spreading over him and chasing away the morning chill.
Lisa rolled her eyes, saying, “Okay, Romeo. Your captain is leaving you behind.”
Charlie frowned at her. “What?”
She sighed. “Nothing. Come on.”
Riding behind Lisa, Dräng grinned.
They turned to catch up with Priest and Maurie, the others following close behind.
The journey to Drakauragh had begun.
Eyes bloodshot from tiredness, not from his use of the Sight, Charlie sat upon his brown ride and peered at the ground, urging the horse forward. He was the only one who had never ridden a horse before, but he found it to be easy enough, at least at the basic level, as he followed Maurie, Derrick, Priest, and Chen. Behind him were Nash, Darcy, and Lisa, all of whom were tired; most of all Lisa. She looked, Charlie remarked to himself, like he felt.
Maurie led the group through the rocky valleys behind her estate. It was an hour before they lost sight of the lonely mansion over grey and brown rock and green turf.
They made their way northwest, with their backs almost completely to the sun. Even though they had come from a small town in the mountains, the untouched beauty of the country overwhelmed the four youngest Monster Hunters.
“Something follows us,” said Chen, turning on his horse to look behind them.
“What is it?” asked Maurie.
“I don’t know,” said Chen.
“But you can sense it?”
“Yes.”
Maurie looked at Charlie. “Boy?”
Charlie looked behind them, but couldn’t see anything with his Sight. “I don’t see it.”
“What should we do?” asked Nash. “Should we fight?”
“Leave it,” advised Priest. “Be on your guard. Better to surprise it with a counterattack than provoke it now, when we don’t know its particulars.”
Only the wind and the faerie seemed to traverse these lands, both being unseen by the human eye. Whenever they came across the taller grasses swaying with the breeze, they were reminded that this was indeed real, and not a still life picture hung on a wall. The serenity and quiet were both soothing and eerie, for a monster could have been watching them from behind any rock, tree, or hill. Knowing something followed them only made it worse. Lisa in particular imagined headless horsemen and goblins with blood-soaked caps charging them from over the knolls.
“It’s different than I imagined,” Darcy said quietly, trying to focus on the more scenic aspects of the moment. “It doesn’t have mountains like back home.”
“No, but there are a lot of hills,” said Nash.
“Do you feel that air?” asked Lisa. “It feels like magic. Like the Otherworld, just not as strong.”
“You should see it,” said Charlie, eyes red. “There are ley lines everywhere.”
But the one affected most of all was Priest, torn between serenity and despair. He saw in the old grasses and hills a sense of peace; a chunk of his heart that had been missing even before he’d been taken captive by the Dark Prince, something that had been gone from him since he left Inis Fáil—the Old Country—all those years ago. But gone was everything that he knew. Family, friends, even the marketplaces that had survived his childhood. The Old Country, Ireland, soothed him even as it reminded him how utterly alone and out of place he was. This was a place of magic, of birth, of struggle, of an indignant and strong people, of ancient roots. These things had not changed and they still bid his heart, come home.
Chen watched the old man with an understanding mind.
“What troubles you, good Priest?”
Priest shook his head from his stupor. “Nothing. And don’t call me that. You make me sound like some old sheph
erd.”
“You seem as a pond with a stone in it, wishing to be still but unable.”
“Do you always speak in riddles?”
“Do you always hide from the concern of an ally?”
Maurie called out from her seat next to Derrick. “Careful here, we’re entering the marshes now. Follow us as narrowly as you can.”
Priest shook his head slowly, still thinking on how to answer Chen.
“I’m afraid,” he answered honestly. “I feel out of place, and I’m afraid I failed my purpose when I lost to that foul prince. Why would God allow that to happen? I had dreams and goals that I hadn’t accomplished yet.”
“You question your God?”
He paused, ashamed to admit it. “I…yes.”
“I do not know much of your God,” said Chen slowly, “but perhaps your destiny was not as you originally thought.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your destiny, my friend, is not then. It is now.”
Chen closed his eyes and began to meditate, letting his horse follow the others and leaving Priest to his own thoughts.
The Asian man was right, he thought. Even with the bitter pill of his family gone, Priest realized that while times had changed, this was still his homeland, and Priest still had a responsibility to her. He allowed himself a smile, listening to the younger Monster Hunters chatting among themselves.
Up ahead, Maurie and Derrick conferred over the old map.
“We should be here,” Maurie told the young man, pointing at a spot along the highlighted route they were to take. “You know the rest of the way to Drakauragh?”
“Aye,” he said, a little nervous. “With a party as large as ours, it will take two, maybe three, days of riding.”
“That is well enough, although we should hurry. We have four nights until the moon is full.” Maurie paused and then said, “I have only one question.”
“Yes’m?”
“You said you were attacked by unnatural wolves on your way from Drakauragh. I know you said this is the safest route. Yet you were attacked, I’m assuming, while you were on this route?”
Charlie Sullivan and the Monster Hunters: Witch Moon Page 6