There was a loud feline growl behind her. She whirled, shocked. All she saw were eyes and teeth, hanging in the air. But the eyes were glaring things, and the teeth curved tike tyrannic fingernails.
She hurled herself away from the horror—and into the middle of the Morris Stage Road. The last thing she saw was the onrushing grillwork of a huge Lincoln. Mike Kominski didn’t even have time to swerve.
Her message delivered, Tom returned the messenger to its eternal abode.
Chapter 14
THE WILD HUNT
The moon had risen high, casting its light upon the mountain. Mandy stood beside the house with Constance, holding her cold, dry hand and watching the golden sickle in the sky.
“I want to stay here forever, Constance.”
“Yes.” There was shyness in her tone. Despite the march of years she had much still of youth in her “But you must be certain Would you give your life for it?”
Mandy raised her eyebrows, regarded Constance. “I’ve teamed to be suspicious of questions like that.”
“Well, no need to answer just this instant. You’ve been given a reprieve The ravens are announcing a visitor.”
Mandy heard their gleeful blaring babble of half-aware voices. She could detect the pleasure and excitement in their tone. “They know the visitor. Somebody they’re glad to see.
“Very good, dear. You’re learning how to listen to them.”
“Just the tone. Not the words.”
“The two are one and the same among birds. If you’re careful, you’ll hear the celebration in their greeting.” She smiled. “Ravens only celebrate one thing, and that is food. So we will find that our visitor is feeding them as he comes up the road.”
“He?”
“The female’s voices are sharpest. It’s a he.”
They went back inside and down the long central hall to the front of the house. Ivy had not yet lit the candles. That wouldn’t occur until the moon cleared the trees. “It’s nice to do things that remind us this old planet rolls,” Ivy had said. “It’s going somewhere, and we’re going there, too.”
Rise of moon, setting of sun, tumble of stars, all were noticed on the Collier estate.
A man in hat, down jacket, and snow boots was just mounting the final rise to the house. As he walked, he tossed bits of something to the darting, gleeful birds.
Mandy was no longer so desolate about the work they had destroyed. One glimpse of the Leannan had made her past efforts seem callow, at least the efforts at fairies. Their destruction was a grace; she would not have been able to bear them now.
“Well, look who it is. Ivy! Robin! Your father’s come for a visit.”
As she and Constance watched him making his way up the walk in his cloud of ravens, Mandy heard a rattle of footsteps from the house. A moment later Robin and Ivy burst past them and met him at the steps. With a cry of happiness Ivy threw herself into his arms. “Dad!”
“Hey, baby! Hiya, Bill.”
“Their outside names are Margaret and Bill,” Constance commented. She offered no further explanation as their father stomped the snow off his boots on the wide front porch.
“Lord, Connie, why don’t you get somebody in to plow that road? Tumbuli’d do it for a hundred bucks.”
“Hello, Steven. Come on in and dry your boots by the fire. We’ve got some hot mulled wine.”
He tramped through the door rubbing his hands. “Nobody mulls wine like you people,” he rumbled.
Mandy was fascinated. Robin had talked about the danger of outsiders learning too much, but here was one outsider who seemed familiar enough with them.
Ivy soon brought wine in steaming mugs. “Oh, that is good,” Steven said, leaning into the warmth. His face, reflecting the firelight, communicated strength and gentleness. His eyes were set in tangled brows, but the way they twinkled suggested that he did not take the witches quite as seriously as they themselves did. He seemed so at peace, so accepting. She could understand why he was trusted here.
“Snow in October! We had three inches down in the town.” He looked askance at Constance. “Sure is unusual, snow in October. I wonder if she was as surprised as we were.” He chuckled. “It is beautiful, though, the white against the autumn colors.”
“It’ll melt.”
“Good! I can get my compost finished. Say, she didn’t tell you when, did she?”
Constance risked. “That is no business of the Episcopalians.”
“Hell, Connie, I’m not just a church deacon. I’m also a gardener. I need to know. And you got my kids, you old witch. I think I’m entitled to a few favors.”
“Steven, I’d like you to meet Amanda Walker. She’s going to be with us from now on. Amanda, this is Steven Cross. He’s my neighbor across the road.”
Mandy smiled. She knew the name Cross, of course. It was one of the old Maywell names. There had been Crosses in the Founder’s Excursion in 1702. Mother Star of the Sea had drilled that into their heads in History, along with the equally important fact that two of the founding families, the Stemleighs and the Albarts, were Roman Catholic.
“My Lord, you do get the pretty ones.” His big hand lingered in her own. Then he turned his eyes on Constance once again. “I thought I’d better come up.” His voice lowered. “Something happened last night.” He cast a significant glance in Mandy’s direction. “Pretty serious.”
“She can hear. She’s going to team it all.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You mean she’s the new—”
“That’s right. But don’t congratulate her yet, she only just survived the first challenge. Now, why did you come? What’s happened?”
“About midnight last night I noticed a lot of traffic out on Bridge Road. I went down the front walk and took a look. There was a regular procession, Connie.”
“Who?”
“Brother Pierce has gotten wind of something.”
“Maybe he’s managed to slip a spy into one of the town covens. I wouldn’t be surprised. That’s the way it usually happened in the old days.”
“I hope none of the ones who use our facilities.”
“I doubt it. The covens that meet at Saint George’s have been going for years.”
“How about Leonora Brown’s group—”
“The Priestess Quest. She is rather new at it. Have you met any of her coven?”
“The rector says it’s a good group.”
“And your Charlie knows people. No, I don’t think my problem is there. I’d be more inclined to nose about the Kominski group. She’s got three covens now. 1 cautioned her about growing too fast.”
Steven smiled. “You folks sell ecstasy. That’s a hard thing to beat in this day and age. People want to join, Connie. I don’t think you realize how much you’re affecting me life of Maywell. Far more than you did even five years ago.”
“I realize it. Never assume I don’t know what I’m doing. And my people can keep their secrets.”
He tucked his chin into his chest. His eyes were no longer twinkling. “Please forgive me, but I beg to differ. Not only Brother Pierce but everybody else in town knows there’s some kind of a big do on tonight.”
“Of course. They have to know.”
He rocked back with surprise. “What? Oh, Connie, come on!”
“The essence of the ritual is danger. If it wasn’t dangerous it wouldn’t work. To be real, magic must be serious. We aren’t playing games here.”
Mandy listened with the utmost care. She believed these words.
Cross’s voice rose as he spoke. “Connie, I don’t think you understand what your people are doing. They’re recruiting all over town, even in the churches. Even from Pierce.”
“They aren’t recruiting. We don’t recruit. Witches are rare. It takes a very special person to become a witch.”
He shook his head. “Whatever, you’re going public. Connie, you people are way out in never-never land and this is a very conservative little town.”
“There’s a long
tradition of toleration here in Maywell.”
“Maywell is a Christian community, of course it’s tolerant. Except for Pierce, that is. And he is far from tolerant.” Steven stopped, looked a long time at the floor. Finally he spoke again. “You’re in danger. All of you. This business of public rituals is highly irresponsible. And the recruitment—”
“We do not recruit!”
“Whatever it is! It’s going to get you in trouble, mark my words. You’ve got families breaking up over this thing. Let me tell you how Maywell thinks of you. The tolerant ones—us, the Catholics, most of the established churches—still figure live and let live, but the more noise you make the more uneasy we get.
As for Brother Pierce’s followers, watch out. They’re running around with torches in the night, my dear.”
Connie smiled softly. “We have to do what we do and be what we are. Nobody really has a choice in such matters. If it means that we lose the toleration of the town, then that’s what must be. But we love you and respect you. Carry that message to your congregation, Steven. Wilt you do that?”
“You know I’ll do what I can. But my strong sense of it is that things are about to get out of hand. Puti back for a while.”
“I’m sorry, Steven.”
He drank deeply of his wine. “What’s in this mull, anyway?”
“Stool of toad, leg of worm.”
“Thank you. I’ll have to write that down. There was more than a procession out there last night. There’s a big burned place on the wall about a hundred yards from the gate, back toward town.”
Constance’s eyes narrowed. “A burned place?”
“The grass is scorched, the wall is covered with soot, and the overhanging branches are blackened.
Somebody’s awful mad at you, Connie.”
Constance’s eyes twinkled. “Pierce, of course.”
“Probably. But you’ve got plenty of enemies besides him. Could be some husband whose wife has moved to your village. Could be a whole group of ‘em.”
“There are only two families affected by the village in that way. And one of the husbands is about to come around. The other is too obsessed with his work to bother about us.”
“Then blame Brother Pierce. From what I hear he’s out to cauterize this place to a cinder. Burn out the witch infection.” He coughed. “This wine is loosening up my chest as well as my tongue. Your darned snowstorm gave me a cold, dear!”
“We don’t affect the weather. That’s just a superstition.”
Steven answered with a deeper hack.
“Ivy, what do you think your father’s cough needs?”
“Well, it’s bronchial, a lot of loose phlegm. Not very serious. I’d say onion broth.”
“Very good. But why are you sure it isn’t serious?”
“There’s no rasp in it, so not much inflammation, and none of the thickness associated with pneumonia.
And it doesn’t have the crack of a tumor cough.”
“See there, Steven. Your daughter is possibly going to be a quite competent herbal doctor. Ivy, give him the recipe.”
“Cut up six small white onions and boil them in a cup of honey. Boil them down for two hours. Strain out the liquid and take it hot, in small doses. You’ll cough a lot at first—”
“I’m sure.”
“Then it’ll stop, Dad. Your cough’ll be cured.”
“I’ll use up my Robitussin first, baby. I love you dearly, but I don’t think Mom’s gonna let me boil down onions in the kitchen.”
Ivy went and sat on the arm of his chair. She stroked what he had left of hair. Robin, sitting on the floor before him, took his mug and refilled it from the pitcher they had left by the fire. Mandy was for a moment conscious of the depth of the love that flowed between this man and his two children. He looked again at Constance. “Please tell me you’re at least going to be careful.”
“Tonight is a bad night for us to be careful.”
There was that suggestion of danger again.
“Don’t go down in the town.”
“We go wherever our ritual leads. The essence of the hunt is danger.”
“You’ve said that! Now, look, if you’re going to be crazy, at least do me one small favor. Tell Sheriff Williams your plan.”
“I did that, of course.” She laughed. “I even had to pay a hoof tax of fifteen cents.”
“I’m glad he knows. I don’t want the poor guy to get a heart attack.”
“Johnny Williams is a good man, Steven. We used to dance together out at Rollo’s Road House.”
“You remember that? When did that place close down—during the war?”
“Before the war. The reason I remember is that Johnny reminds me every time I see him ” There had come into Constance’s face a fey expression. To say she had once been a coquette would not be accurate. She still was one.
On the distance came the single boom of a gong. “The moon hangs two fingers over the mountain,”
Constance said. “We have a lot to do before midnight.”
He slapped his palm against his head. “I’m telling you half of this town is up in arms, Connie, and you propose to go thundering through its streets on horseback at midnight? You must be mad!”
“Half the town may be up in arms, but the other half is mine.”
“Not half, dear. Perhaps a fourth.”
“Many of the others are friends.”
“Oh, come on. You act like you haven’t heard what I said. You make a spectacle of yourself and you’re going to lose the friends you do have.”
Mandy saw something fierce in the look Steven gave Constance, something he himself might not even have been aware of. The gong boomed again.
“I gather that means I have to go.”
“That’s what it means, Steven.”
He got up. “Thanks a heap for the wine. And don’t say I didn’t warn you if you have trouble tonight.” He tromped out, his children trailing behind him. “Your mother sends her love. Her apples are ripe, and she says to tell you she’s going to have thirty bushels. All grown without spells.”
“That’s what she thinks,” Ivy said. “I first spelled the orchard on Beltane Day.”
“I’ll tell her that. I’m sure she’ll throw away her fertilizer.”
“I wish she would. She doesn’t need it. It shocks her trees. They’re getting old before their time.”
“We’ve got a good harvest, too,” Robin added. “Pumpkins and corn and squash and wheat and oats.
And an incredible blackberry crop. We’re going to be making the herbal stuff again.”
There was an awkwardness now between the three of them. “It’ll be a good harvest, then,” Steven said.
“The best,” his son said. A pause grew, spread into a silence.
“Your sisters miss you.” Steven paused at the door. He opened his arms to his son and daughter. “You know,” An instant later he was off into the night. Soon the calls of the ravens began again, diminishing with him as he departed. “Hey! Lay off that hat! I’m outa bread!”
Then he was gone.
Ivy went about with her taper, and soon the house shone with the deep light of the candles. Mandy saw Robin hurrying through the kitchen. The slam of the door made her gasp. She was alert with anticipation.
She understood that she was at the center of this ritual. Naturally she was apprehensive. She told herself that was all it was—apprehension. She would not admit to deep fear, the curdling terror that comes when one faces a true unknown.
“What am I going to do tonight?” she asked Constance.
Her mentor took both of her hands. “You are the huntress, dear.” She wasn’t surprised. “I hope you know how to ride bareback.”
“I couldn’t possibly! I haven’t ridden a horse since I was sixteen.”
“Well, give it a try. You’ll have to go sky-clad, too.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ll see. Now, come on, the moon doesn’t wait.”
The next thing Mandy knew she was following Constance down the path through the herb garden. The idea of hesitating never crossed her mind.
When they reached the village, they slipped between two of the cottages to find the place most wonderfully transformed from Mandy’s brief visit when she first entered the estate. There were candles everywhere, making pools of light along the snowy paths, gleaming in the windows of the cottages, in the lanterns before the houses, too. Holly decorated all the doors. “You’re to hunt the Holly King tonight, my dear Amanda,” Constance said. “As usual the rules of the game will be simple. Just do your best.”
Here she went again with the vague instructions. Mandy remembered struggling up Stone Mountain, not knowing where the hell she was going. “What if I fall off the horse?” she muttered, knowing there would be no reply.
She was being tested. Very well. She raised her chin.
Fiercely she determined to pass every test they could give her.
Constance stopped in the middle of the village. She looked most wonderful, hooded, her cloak touching the ground. Her face was lit by the candles, and the moon rode high above her. “If at any point you fail, my dear, we burn this village and go home. We quit.”
A stone seemed to knock in her chest. “It’s that important? Me?” Now all of her posturing seemed hollow.
“This is your night, my dear You have taken your place with the Leannan as I took mine fifty years ago.
To further prove yourself, you must capture the Holly King and make him your own. It symbolizes your strength. The Holly King is all of us, our covenstead, our way of life. If you want to lead us, you must first catch us.”
Mandy’s mind was still battling through the possible meanings of what she had just heard when Constance marched up to the doors of the great round building at the head of the town and threw them open.
The room within was an astonishment of light and odor: it appeared to be a combination barn and ritual chamber. Around the walls were stalls full of horses and cattle and goats. Mandy saw fine mounts, their rumps gleaming, their tails beautifully curried. The smell was not unpleasant, just intensely animal. The stalls, though, formed only the outermost circle. The greater part of the space was taken up by a beaten-earth floor, upon which sat perhaps four dozen people—men, women, and children.
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