The Fiddler glanced up at Alastor. “Your kind is very bad at understanding endings. I never expected the Horn to bond to this world as it did, but now that it has, I’m sure we can come up with a better structure for the Wild Hunt. We just have to give it a new song instead of having it constantly strain for echoes of what I’ve taken away.” He put his bow to his violin and started to play again.
This song was different than the previous gentle, supportive music he’d played on the roof. It was energetic, with dark twists and many little motifs. It was, I realized, about a journey.
“A new Hunt!” said Amber joyfully. A golden radiance spilled off her skin. “Oh, yes, please. I’ll join!”
Amber wasn’t the only one glowing. The song the Fiddler played described us, and the golden shimmer surrounded Yejun and Brynn and sparked off my fingers. It surrounded Cat and Jen, too.
“It can’t just be you,” said the Fiddler. “It needs six. Don’t be afraid. I won’t let it drag you in against your will.”
Yejun straightened his shoulders. “Will we still be ourselves? Can we have lives? Or would we have to go back to that crazy city?”
“The Hunt is free now, whoever embodies it,” answered the Fiddler serenely. “It will call you to your task, when you are needed. It will, I hope, be an unpleasant one. Necessary, but unpleasant.”
Yejun hesitated, then said, “Okay, sure.” He stepped forward.
Brynn pulled herself away from Branwyn a heartbeat later. “I have to, Bran. I’m already in.” She turned her hands up. The glyphs of the rescued souls were gone, but the stylized horses still reared on her arms. She gave Branwyn a reassuring smile. “It’ll be fine. You went out looking for magic and found it, right? My turn.” And Branwyn scowled, but let her walk over to stand beside Yejun and Amber.
Cat stood facing Jen, holding both her hands. “Sen wanted you to live,” he told her. “She wanted me to save you.”
Jen stared down at the ground. “I can’t—I can’t imagine life without her. I don’t want to. All I ever wanted was her.” Then she sighed. “But none of you are even old enough to drink. No, not even you, Cat, you’re like two months old.” And she pulled away from Cat’s hands and walked past him into the glow surrounding the other three. Cat stared after her, a wry, pained smile on his handsome face. Then she turned back and held out her hand to him, and he sprang forward to take it.
Alastor stood behind me, whispering. “I have to tell you. This is what your father wants, kid. You think those people are your friends, but this is a scheme, a play by your father to turn you into what he wants you to be. He’s Hunter, after all. Once you join them, you will become exactly what he wants, exactly what your dogs were before. Are you going to take them back into that?”
If I could have just ignored him, I would have. I didn’t trust him. But what he said tapped into my deepest fears. I knew how much my father wanted me to integrate into his pack, to accept what they wanted from me and lead them on hunts. Wasn’t this that? Was this just an elaborate setup, a game he’d arranged to get what he wanted?
I couldn’t just ignore him, but I could reject the fears he stirred, over and over again, every day. It would be easier with friends. “This is real,” I said, and ran to catch Yejun’s outstretched hand.
The Fiddler’s song traced out our journey, our fights and flights and shared moments, and the light around us grew until it shone through us, like we were made of hollowed glass. Then the Fiddler’s song poured into us, filling us up with ourselves, transfigured. The Horn reached out tendrils of gold and those tendrils merged with the glass of our bodies. For an amazing moment we were all connected through the Horn. We were all beautiful. And the wildness, the alien essence of the Horn wove its way into us. I could hear it, feel it. I could look into the depths of the golden sheen and see truths I barely had the framework to understand. And I was not a puppet, not a celestial’s dream or shadow. Just as a golden strand connected me to the Horn, another strand, thick and solid, ran from me to the world. I was a bridge. We all were.
And the world expected certain things of us. It ached, from old wounds and new ones. We would have to deal with those as we found them.
The song ended, but the light didn’t fade until Tia moved between us. She was still a dark phantom, pierced with glyphs of light. She wasn’t part of what we were, but she picked up the Horn and held it gently.
“The first thing you must do is to deal with those who once occupied your position. They are neither celestial nor human, but shadows come to life, and they are a vector for corruption that must be removed.”
We looked at each other. The Horn tugged on me gently, and the world pushed, but I set my feet and thought about the order. I thought about what being removed meant. There was a blankness within the Horn.
“It’s peace,” said Jen quietly.
Amber shuddered. “It’s oblivion.”
“It’s justice,” said Tia firmly.
My pleasure at seeing Tia’s return ran up against an iceberg of irritation. Hadn’t the Fiddler just explained to us that it was people like her—people the Horn couldn’t fully destroy—who had made this mess? I gave her a quelling look. “Shh. You may have started it, but you’re not finishing it. You’re not contributing.”
Cat addressed the Fiddler. “Can’t you take them with you, back wherever you came from? It was your abandoned magic that twisted them this way.”
The Fiddler tilted his head, his dark hair falling across his face. “I’m not going to do that.”
“That’d just be punting the problem to somebody else, anyhow,” Yejun said.
Brynn whispered, “They can’t help but hurt things. They hurt each other. They even hurt their horses.”
Everybody looked at me, including the thousand ghosts that Tia had preserved from the eschaton in the Horn.
I sighed. “It’s necessary.”
Brynn threw wide her hands and horses galloped off of her, six of them. Golden and black and silver, crimson and earthen and twilight, a river of sparkling ink come to life. Each horse chose a rider, came to us unsaddled and unbridled. The golden stallion came to me. He was not afraid. And as he turned his head to look me in the eye, I saw that was because he was furious.
Personally, I was nervous. Horses weren’t my thing. But these horses were part of the Wild Hunt, bound by music of their own, not just by Brynn’s magic. They were a story far older than my dogs. And they’d spent millennia under those who probably would have been happier with motorcycles.
Whatever the golden stallion saw in my eyes, it satisfied him. A simple saddle shimmered into place on his back. He blew on me and stomped his hoof.
I looked down at my dogs. They recognized the horses. They remembered, without shame or guilt, what had gone before. Other than the spikes of pain, they’d liked running with the horses.
They were ready. I had to be, too. I took a deep breath and climbed into the saddle. A real Huntsman probably would have done it with more grace. But once I was settled up there, tall and nervous, I looked around. Almost everybody else was in their own saddle, and only Jen and Amber looked comfortable. That made me feel a bit better.
Cat, whose horse was still staring at him, ears flattened, said, “I’m sorry. I’m still learning. I’ll try not to be like them.”
One ear, then the other, pricked up, and the horse pawed the ground meaningfully.
“Agreed,” said Cat. Then, as the horse turned more invitingly, he sprang into the saddle with an assurance that made Jen and Amber’s familiarity look babyish.
My horse trotted to the edge of the roof and I looked down. A mist rolled over the roof and obscured the ground below. It was a screen through which the rest of the world appeared only dimly. Only my friends and their mounts seemed real; even Tia was shrouded by a haze of white, and her ghosts were gone entirely.
The world below was just hazed landmarks and streets, except for a single individual, running down a street. It was one of the previous Hunt
smen, and he was as visible as we were.
My horse walked off the edge of the roof and plunged downwards.
-twenty seven-
We flew down from the hotel tower, galloping on mist, the Wild Hunt in pursuit of the world’s cancers.
But let’s be honest. The horse was doing all the work. He’d neglected to put on any kind of bridle when he’d donned the saddle, so I was really just along for the ride. But, mounted on his back, I could see a little more of his thoughts and the Hunt’s history. We’d have to get to know each other later, we’d have to make friends and build a partnership, but for now, this horse wanted to see its previous rider punished. Or at least gone. It was enough for a provisional relationship.
Jen had the Horn and after a moment, she started to play it, a simple, foreboding song. We swept down on the Huntsman known as Atl, born from the sacrifice of an angel, as he ran from us. I’d never known his name myself, but the horse did, and the Horn did. They knew his crimes, too, but even I could see the way the mist pulled away around him and the ground under his feet was raw and bleeding.
We weren’t all armed, not yet, but Cat was, and when my dogs had circled him, trapped him, Cat threw his knife and the Horn swallowed Atl down and the angel’s sacrifice became no more than an angel’s mistake, and something to heal from.
Cat dismounted and picked up the bow and quiver left behind when the Huntsman vanished. He presented them to Amber, who took them solemnly.
After that, we knew the process, which made it easier. When we were close, the mist opened so we could see the wounds and their source, but the dogs led us until then. They learned the scents from the Horn, and they were relentless, because it was a game to them.
Easier, because we knew a little of what to expect, but not actually easy. We found Ne in a stable trying to get another horse, and Cle sobbing in a church, and we took two more bows when they were gone. Bows, instead of icy swords, and I wondered if even the form of their weapons was part of their corruption. Ipa, sorcerer of the Wild Hunt, had hidden himself as a tree, and because of that he took more work to find. Yejun had to find him, looking for the reconstruction work on the magic of the world. But once we did, he didn’t fight us at all. He gave Yejun a brass sphere, then spread his arms and let the magic of the Horn dissipate him.
We found Tala and Ion together, fighting each other. As we arrived, Ion tried to get away, but she caught him and held him down, then dragged him to his feet. “Die like a hero,” she told him, then wrestled him around to face us. She was splendid and beautiful as she held him by his hair and a twisted arm, and I wondered if the wound around their feet hailed from her as much as him. I hesitated, I admit it. She’d fought him off, then held him down. I wanted that kind of power to be free. I wanted to learn from her.
Her fierce gaze went from me to Amber to Brynn, then she shook her head. “It starts so easily.” She kicked Ion’s spear away from him, toward us. “I have lived for this moment for too long. To take us both out of this world...” She planted a kiss on Ion’s bruised cheek. “Together. That’s what you wanted, beloved, isn’t it?”
His frozen, furious expression was all for Tala, and I felt, just for a moment, irritated. Here I was, in his place. I wanted him to see me and understand. I wanted him to be afraid of me.
I was my father’s daughter.
Then Tala gave a sharp cry and the horses surged forward and the Wild Hunt swallowed Tala and Ion both, and they were gone.
It was over.
The horses carried us back to the roof again, where Tia and Branwyn and Marley and the Fiddler still stood, waiting. As I slid off the golden stallion’s back, I felt numb and exhausted. How long had we been riding? Was it still Halloween?
The Fiddler played our song as we landed, just a snatch, then bowed and vanished before we could speak again. I wondered if he’d gone back to where he’d come from, carrying the malignant song. And I wondered if it had a better purpose, where he’d come from, or if it was always a force for destruction. I wished I’d thought to ask him.
Brynn leaned forward and hugged her horse’s neck. When she slid off, her eyes were shining. “I’m a magical girl,” she told Branwyn, with both pride and laughter in her voice.
Branwyn didn’t share her delight. She sounded like she was ready to cut someone as she asked, “A magical girl who still goes to school and sleeps at home and doesn’t terrify her mother?”
Before Brynn could decide on an answer, Amber said uncertainly, hopefully, “If you’re a magical girl, does that mean we saved the world with the power of friendship?”
“Sure,” said Yejun, stretching. “The power of friendship.” He glanced at Jen. Jen smiled back at him. She looked more alive than she had since I’d met her, with a vibrancy and a glow I’d never seen before. Then Yejun looked at me. “Now what?”
“Live your lives,” suggested Tia. She looked down at herself, at her dark shimmer and bright markings. “You’re still mostly who you were before. You just have a new job. Lives are important for maintaining perspective.”
“So is school,” said Branwyn, with a bright, hard edge to it.
“Yes, Bran,” said Brynn with exaggerated patience. “I have a girlfriend and the GSA. I can’t just abandon them.”
“A life,” said Jen, as if tasting it. She looked down at Cat’s hand holding hers. “I need some time,” she began, then pushed Cat away. “I need some time, Cat. We had something before she died, I know. I’ve never stopped thinking about it. But it’s going to take a while before I stop blaming that something for what happened. I was distracted when I shouldn’t have been.”
“I know,” said Cat, simply. “If you’re alive, I can wait.”
“Can I go gloat?” asked Amber. “No, that’s probably a terrible idea. I’ll hang out with one of you for a while so it’s easier to get the gang all together again.” She looked at Cat mischievously, and a nervous look crossed Jen’s face.
“What about you, AT?” asked Yejun. His eyes were dark, intense, and there was no hiding from them.
Everybody followed his gaze and I looked back at them, surprised. “I’m going home, of course. Back to my father. That hasn’t changed. We go back to our lives, right?” I shrugged.
“And we’re all going with you?” he demanded. “Right?”
I shook my head. “That would make it harder. I’d be afraid for you. But just knowing that I have you guys to come to when the Horn calls, that does help. And I have my dogs back again.” I smiled at them.
Nobody smiled back. Branwyn said, “You don’t have to go back to him.”
“I do,” I said. And I thought about explaining, but I realized I didn’t know how. I’d seen myself on our first Hunt. I’d wanted Ion to fear me. I was my father’s daughter and I belonged there. He was my father, she was my mother, and I couldn’t escape just by walking away. I’d seen that already. Life in his house had shaped me and I didn’t know how to live anywhere else, not really.
But I couldn’t help glancing at Tia, to see if she was once again disappointed in me. If she was, she didn’t show it. She just looked back at me, serene. And that was better than Marley and Branwyn’s frustration, the anger I thought I saw on almost everybody’s face.
Yejun’s face was all hard planes. I went to him, stood on my tiptoes and brushed my lips across his. He didn’t move, until his hands were under my elbows and his mouth was no longer a hard line. Then I pulled away. “See you when the Horn blows.”
Tia caught my arm. “You lost your phone. You can borrow mine until you replace it.” She pressed something into my hand. My fingers closed reflexively.
I went home.
*
It was just the same as it ever was. I made sure to put my dogs away before I got onto our property, and I shifted the costume I’d picked up so the bag was visible. Sure, it was a full day after I’d left, but all I could really think was only a day. And I kept an eye out for Scott, but I didn’t see him at all. My father must have really
disapproved of how he lost track of me.
I stopped at the clearing of ghosts on my way home. If Emily’s ghost was there, she didn’t come out. But the other ghost did, the one who had spoken to me before. She looked at me with something that wasn’t hatred, before bowing. It wasn’t much, but I’d take it.
I walked into the house as my father and his wolves were eating brunch. The news was on, and somebody was exclaiming about the suited black-winged angel who had been hovering over downtown Seattle. I guess nobody had noticed the flying horses. Maybe the mist worked both ways.
My father leaned back when he saw me, putting his feet on the table. “Where have you been, Annalise?”
I lifted the costume bag. “These were sold out everywhere. I had to go on a costume quest.”
“I tried calling you,” he said, deceptively soft. “We needed some things.”
“Phone fell under a bus,” I said, a touch nervously.
Looking me over, he said, “You look like you fell under a bus, too.” My scrapes had healed but my street clothing was still torn up. I’d forgotten.
I shrugged. “I got mad at the bus.”
He gave me a long, steady look. “Your performance tonight had better impress me, or we’re going to have to start your training up again with a lot more review than I expected.”
“Sure,” I said, and went upstairs. I needed a shower and a new set of clothes a lot more than I needed an argument or a broken hand.
I spent a while up there looking at my clothes, wondering which of them worked for the Wild Hunt. Was rocking the Victorian gothic aesthetic an important part of Wild Hunting? Or could I discover my own style? I’d have to, based on my wardrobe.
Eventually, as the afternoon wore on, my father shouted for me and I went downstairs again.
“Where’s your costume?” he asked me, his eyes narrowed.
“I’ll put it on when it’s time,” I told him, sitting down on the couch and looking around the living room. It seemed different, somehow. Smaller.
Wolf Interval (Senyaza Series Book 3) Page 27