The Wild Hunt

by Thomas Galvin

  After saying goodbye to a few of his students, Warren exited the lecture hall. I slipped out of my seat and followed him all the way to his office on the fifth floor. He dug into his bag, looking for his keys.

  “Great lecture, Dr. Warren,” I said. I looked at him, really looked, but my vision didn’t change. There were no demons inside of him.

  “Thanks,” he said, “but please, call me Matt.” He turned around. “Oh, I’m sorry. I … you aren’t in my class, are you?”

  “No,” I answered, “but I’d like to talk to you about your lecture, if you have a moment.”

  Warren sighed. He jammed his hand back into the bag and pulled out a piece of paper, which he handed to me. The top of it read, in big, black letters, Formal Complaint.

  “Um, what?” I asked.

  “If you’re pissed off that I’m preaching false doctrine or leading innocent minds into temptation or being mean to Little Baby Jesus, that’s the paper you want to fill out and give to the dean. I frame them after he stamps Rejected on the top and mails it to me.”

  I blinked. “Um, no, that’s not it. I’m not here to complain about your lecture. I just want to talk about it.”

  Now it was Warren’s turn to be confused. “Oh. Sorry. I, well, I get a lot of complaints from the home school crowd, especially around Christmas and Easter. I just kind of assumed.”

  “No problem.”

  I followed Warren to his office. He unlocked the door and stepped inside. “Please, come in.”

  A girl was waiting inside, sitting in Warren’s chair with her feet up on the desk. She was beautiful, in an unapproachable, almost dangerous way, with raven-dark hair, a tan complexion, and jeans so tight that she probably needed help getting into them. I looked at her through the Æther, but she wasn’t carrying an unclean spirit around, either.

  The girl was reading a book and glanced up when Warren entered the room. “Hello Matthew,” she purred. “Who’s your friend?”

  “Just someone interested in my lecture.”

  “Did you give him the complaint form?”

  Warren laughed. “That’s not what he’s here for.”

  The girl raised her eyebrows. “Well. That’s surprising.” She slid out of Warren’s chair, displaying an almost feline grace, the easy, fluid movements of a predator. She stretched her hands up high and arched her back, which was absolutely fascinating to watch, and her sweater lifted high enough to reveal a diamond with a small silver chain in her navel.

  “Ashlyn West,” she said, holding out her hand. I shook it, and sparks leapt between us. The girl was a magic user.

  Warren coughed. “Ashlyn is, well, we don’t actually have TAs here, but she’s helping me with an independent research project.”

  “I’ll bet she is.”

  Ashlyn bit her lip and looked at me like I was a particularly interesting mouse, then turned and kissed Warren on the cheek. “You boys have fun. I’ll see you tonight.” She practically glided across the floor and out the door, leaving it open behind her.

  “She’s cute,” I said.

  Warren walked around his desk and sat down, looking for all the world like an emperor on his throne. “She’s an adult. So, about my lecture?”

  I took a moment to center myself. I hate confrontations like this. I never know how to approach the conversation. Do I try to build rapport and show the man logically why summoning the patron deity of murder is a bad idea? Do I show him my power, try to frighten him into abandoning his mad quest? Do I steal his car keys so he can’t make it to the ritual on time?

  “Look,” I said, “this isn’t really about the lecture.”

  “Oh, I know exactly what this is about.” Warren gestured, and the door behind me slammed shut. The lights dimmed, and in the partial shadows Warren looked like a demon: smug, content, and ready to devour his next victim.

  Chapter Three

  I gathered the Æther into an invisible, protective shell that hovered just above my skin.

  Just in time, too, because Warren twisted his fingers into some sort of magic knot, whispered a word in a language that predated German by a few hundred years, and unleashed his magic upon me.

  The force was all but indiscernible, a small current in the air, but it hit me like a cannon ball. The Æther slammed into my armor, hurling me into the closed office door. The wood exploded and I shot across the hallway, crashing into the wall on the far side. I hit with enough force to crack the drywall and leave a man-sized indentation.

  Warren waved his hand and his desk slid out of the way. He came forward, unbuttoning his shirt as he walked. His entire body appeared to be tattooed, covered in dirty blue runes and knots. He dropped his shirt on the floor, raised his hands, palms toward the sky, and began to chant.

  Screw that. I thrust my hand forward and summoned a ward, then sent it screaming down the hallway. The force of my mind crashed into him, smashing him into the ceiling. I released the spell, letting him fall back to the floor.

  I stood up, cracked my neck, and stretched out my hand. The Æther swirled around me, and a glowing ball of blue-white light appeared in my palm.

  “Bigot,” Warren spat. Blood dripped from his mouth and onto the floor.

  “Excuse me?”

  “We have freedom in this country! And you have no right to take that freedom away!”

  “Yeah, okay,” I said, “I’ll let the Tea Party know.”

  I unleashed the Æther, and a glowing beam of pure force lashed out. Warren slashed the air with his hand. His attack hit me, throwing me off balance and sending my own attack wide. My spell carved a hole in the floor and wall.

  I threw another ward at him, but Warren dodged to the side. He crouched and glared at me, then held out his hand and hissed in Old German.

  The Æther moved, but I couldn’t see what effect his spell was having …

  Until a goddamned spear, flying of its own accord, ripped through the wall and landed in Warren’s hands. The thing was at least six feet long, and the last foot of it was all blade. The shaft was a deep red and carved in a spiral, and the blade appeared to be made of bronze with steel filigree.

  “Nice stick,” I said. “Overcompensating for something?”

  Warren snarled. I threw a blast of Æther at him, but Warren slashed the air with his spear. The blade burst into flames. The blade and the Æther clashed, and the explosion threw both of us to opposite ends of the hallway.

  I gathered the Æther for another attack. Warren got to one knee and hurled his spear.

  It was a lazy throw with hardly any momentum behind it, but the spear streaked toward me like a missile. I abandoned my attack and dove down the connecting hallway, around a corner and out of the spear’s reach.

  Of course the fucking thing turned the corner and came right at me.

  Goddamned enchanted weapons.

  I raised a fast ward. The spear slammed into the barrier and red fire spread through the ward. The spear clattered to the ground, quivered, then jumped into the air and disappeared back around the corner.

  I rounded the corner myself, gathering the energy for a spell. The spear was already back in Warren’s hands. His eyes were furious, mad, and he even had a little bit of spittle in the corner of his mouth. He screamed, brandished the spear, and charged.

  Not so good with the strategy, this one. I unleashed my spell, and the blue-white light of the Æther leapt toward him. Warren slashed with his spear, trying to block the assault, but I wasn’t aiming for him.

  I was aiming about three feet in front of him.

  The Æther blasted a five-foot hole in the floor. Warren saw it, but he was running at a dead sprint and had no chance at stopping in time. He pinwheeled his arms and arched his back, trying to maintain his balance, but eventually physics won and he tipped over the edge.

  He hit the ground below with a crunch that I probably shouldn’t have enjoyed as much as I did.

  I pulled the Æther into me, strengthening my bones and muscles, and leapt into
the hole. My magic protected me as I landed, allowing my body to absorb the impact with ease.

  Warren wasn’t so lucky. He laid in a heap, his spear a few feet out of reach. He was trying to push himself up, but he was hurt, moving gingerly and favoring his right shoulder.

  “This doesn’t have to be ugly,” I said.

  “We will not bow down before you,” Warren said through gritted teeth. He reached for his spear, which began to rattle on the floor.

  I threw a blast of Æther at it, knocking it further away and interrupting Warren’s mental control over it. The spear itself, however, was undamaged. It’s damn near impossible to destroy a properly enchanted artifact; the Æther makes it too strong.

  Warren looked hard at the spear, then turned his bitter eyes toward me. “We will not cease our worship.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass who you worship,” I said. “I’m trying to stop you from killing anybody.”

  Warren blinked. “Killing? Who said anything about killing people?”

  My mouth moved, but no sounds came out. It took me a moment to reboot my brain. “You just tried to kill me. With a magic spear.”

  “You are a threat to us. We bear no ill will toward any outside of our circle, unless they bear ill will toward us.”

  “Holy hell,” I said, and leaned up against the wall. The fight had taken a lot out of me. “You don’t know, do you?”

  “What are you talking about?” Warren, too, leaned up against the wall, but he was still sitting on the floor. That didn’t seem like such a bad idea, actually.

  “I’m talking about your Solstice ritual. Your sacrifice to Wotan.”

  “We don’t do human sacrifice, Caden,” Warren said. He rested his head against the wall. “Jesus, you watch too many movies.”

  “That isn’t going to stop the Wild Hunt from ravaging Mirrormont.”

  Warren sat bolt upright. “What?”

  “The Wild Hunt. Your ritual is going to summon Wotan, and he’s going to lead the Wild Hunt through Mirrormont. That’s why I came here. To stop you from unleashing a horde of demon Vikings on rural Washington.”

  A mad gleam filled Warren’s eyes. “Lord Wotan will appear to us?”

  “Yeah. And kill dozens of people. Maybe hundreds.”

  “And the Wild Hunt will ride forth?”

  “Yes. See also: hundreds dead.”

  He grinned at me like a man who heard a burning bush tell him to murder his son. “It’s going to work!”

  His hand shot out and the spear leapt to him. I formed a shield in front of me, just in time to block his strike. Warren lashed out, slashing and swinging with his spear. My shield rippled. Each strike drove another red hot needle into my skull. He drove me back, then hit me with a blast of telekinetic energy that hurled me out the fourth floor window.

  ***

  I landed on the cold, hard ground. The Æther protected me, but the air was still driven from my lungs.

  Warren starred down, bitter rage on his face. He turned around and vanished into the building.

  Hell. That hadn’t gone well at all. I hadn’t exactly expected Warren to cave in and agree to stop trying to invoke the German god of slaughter, but I hadn’t expected my confrontation to encourage him, either. Warren had gone from a nut case to a nut case with conviction because of our little talk.

  But at least he had a magic spear. That would probably make everything easier.

  The door to Warren’s building was locked, but that wasn’t a problem. I reached into my pocket and took out a key, the only key I ever needed. The Thieves’ Key.

  It was plain, like one of the blanks they use to duplicate a house key, and made of iron. The head of the key was inlaid with a golden sigil, and golden trim ran along its edge. It shimmered when it made contact with my skin.

  The seal belonged to Surgat, which the Grimoire of Honorius describes as “he who opens all locks.” Honorius was written sometime in the thirteenth century by a group of magicians who decided, for some reason, to create a compendium of all of their knowledge. It was a Solomonic text, and the sigils it contained were all vaguely Hebrew-looking.

  The Key is an example of mechanical or charm magic, a token created by and imbued with certain magical properties. The sigil was constructed not to summon Surgat, but to channel his energies. I touched the sigil and the Key itself transformed my will into a working spell.

  As a general rule I don’t like keeping artifacts on me; all of the other charms I’d collected lived in my Vault, safe from greedy hands and evil hearts. But the Key was so relatively harmless–and so damn useful–that I made an exception.

  When the key glowed it would open any lock. Literally any lock. The door to a house, the ignition on a car, even one of those card swipe machines that some colleges used to lock the dorms. I slid the Key into the door to the academic building. The Key glowed and reshaped itself, passing easily into the keyhole and opening the door. The alarm panel next to the door started flashing red, and I pushed the Key into the panel’s face. It blinked and fizzled a few times, then turned green.

  I climbed the steps to the fourth floor. A janitor stood at the end of the hallway, holding a mop and staring at the destruction with an open jaw.

  “Evening,” I said, nodding to him.

  Warren was nowhere to be seen, which meant it was time for a little detective work. I climbed one more floor and stepped into his office. Most of what I found was boring: papers that needed to be graded, minutes from the Faculty Senate, lecture notes, and a copy of the student newspaper. But I hit the jackpot at the bottom of the pile: a credit card bill with Matthew Warren’s phone number and home address. I snapped a photo with my cell phone, tossed everything back more or less where I found it, and headed back outside.

  So now I knew where Warren lived. If only I knew where his cult was meeting.

  I could have gone to Warren’s house, but the fight had taken a lot out of me, and I wasn’t ready for another confrontation. Moreover, Warren was far more powerful than I had expected. I wanted time to consult my dusty old tomes of knowledge and hopefully figure out just what the hell he was capable of.

  And how to shut him down.

  Dinner was long over by the time I got back to the DuBois’. My stomach grumbled as I walked toward the door, and I thought about heading back into town to grab a quick bite.

  I stopped. My senses weren’t exactly open, but my fight with Warren had left me a bit more sensitive than usual. That was why I could feel the ley line, a stream of magical energy, pulsing and humming maybe a hundred yards away from the bed and breakfast. I opened up my senses fully and, sure enough, a column of blue-white light coursed through the ground, heading into the forest.

  My stomach growled. “Shut up,” I said. “We’ll eat after we save the world.”

  I followed the ley line for about five minutes before I detected the skin-tingling energy of another line. I looked around, but the second line was still concealed by the trees. Another dozen yards later I felt a third ley line.

  I walked into a clearing. The glade was nearly fifty feet across, ringed with residual energies so bright they almost hurt to look at. Energy arced up from five points around the perimeter, connecting them and forming a pentagram in the air. Above, energy fell from the sky in a shower of golden sparks.

  At the center of the clearing, at the dead center of the pentagram, lay a stone circle filled with the ashes of ritual fires. And the three ley lines–all three–intersected right in the middle.

  Jesus. That’s why Miranda was going to be dragged into this. The ritual was going to happen right in her back yard.

  December 18th

  Chapter Four

  It turns out that I absolutely hate bed and breakfasts. Or however you make that plural. Beds and breakfasts? Beds and breakfast? I don’t know.

  Anyway, I travel a lot. I’m almost constantly on the road, and I think I had spent a grand total of fifteen days at home in the previous year. The rest of the time w
as spent in my Jeep or in a hotel.

  That word “hotel” is key. I like hotels. Nice, generic, antiseptic, impersonal hotels. I spend a lot of time alone, and I’ve kind of forgotten how to do the whole people thing. That means I don’t like the guy at the front desk greeting me by name, I don’t like people fussing over me, and I don’t like people taking care of me.

  Especially when that someone is a fire-haired, emerald-eyed, twenty-something-year-old woman.

  The DuBois residence had a giant dining room that looked like it had originally been divided in two. The room held ten four-tops, each one of them covered by a subtly-patterned cloth. The writing desk in my room was barely big enough for my laptop, let alone my old and dusty books, so I claimed the table farthest in the back, near the windows, and settled in to do some research.

  Warren’s group was called the Asatru, which roughly means “faith of the Aesir.” There was actually a not-for-profit operating under a similar name, the Asatru Alliance, but as far as I could tell they had no interest in causing mass, supernatural slaughter.

  Miranda appeared next to me. “Morning Caden,” she said, smiling. “Sorry we missed you last night.”

  “Me, too,” I said. “My interview with Dr. Warren took some interesting turns, and I ended up staying on campus pretty late.”

  “Well, I hope you got some useful information.”

  I chuckled, mostly to myself. “Yeah, I learned a lot.”

  “So what can I get you for breakfast?” Miranda asked.

  I blinked. “Huh?”

  She laughed. “This is a bed and breakfast, you know. The bed is the thing you slept in last night, and the breakfast is the thing I’m going to cook you right now.”

  “Oh, um, that’s okay. I mean thanks and all, but you don’t have to cook for me.”

  “Caden, that’s what we do here. It’s what keeps us in business.” She gestured to the tables behind her, which were quickly filling up. “Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It’s more reliable income than the boarding, actually.”