The Wild Hunt

by Thomas Galvin

  “The three billy goats gruff? That was a troll, not an ogre.”

  “Well look who’s suddenly an expert on mythological creatures,” I muttered, then punched the frost ogre in the face. The Æther poured through my body and out my fist. The ogre’s frozen head shattered into a million crystalline shards.

  “Holy Christ,” the fire captain said.

  I cracked my knuckles. “Damn skippy. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go fight a Norse goddess.” I started to walk around the building, then called back over my shoulder. “Oh, that thing’s gonna smell when it thaws, so you might want to get rid of it.”

  “What the hell are we supposed to do with it?” the sheriff called out.

  “Burn it? Somewhere far away?”

  “Thanks, Mr. Lyndsey. That’s very helpful.”

  “Hey, I killed the thing. I think my work here is done.”

  The battle hadn’t tired me out. Just the opposite, really. I felt energized, excited, and ready to kick all manner of asses. Miranda was held in Holda’s sway, sure, but I was pretty confident that destroying Holda was a good way to get her back. I stalked around the courthouse, feeding energy into my armor and gathering Æther for an all-out assault. I rounded the building, focusing my will and my energies into dancing flames barely contained in the palms of my hands. I turned my hands over, ready to unleash hell …

  But Holda and her court had vanished, leaving Issaquah to quietly burn.

  I stared at the bonfire, seething. I wasn’t sure if the ogre was meant to kill me or just distract me, but the distinction was irrelevant. The creature had taken enough of my time that Holda had escaped, taking three dozen innocent girls with her.

  Including Miranda.

  ***

  “… crew with jack hammers, and a couple of dump trucks,” the sheriff said into his walkie-talkie as he came around the building. He stopped next to me. “So, this the same thing that did those churches?”

  “Yeah.”

  The sheriff mulled that over for a minute. “What about all them girls that was dancing around the fire?”

  My lip trembled, and I fought back the urge to punch something. “Holda called it the Maiden’s Dance. She summoned the girls from their homes. I think she’s building an army, Sheriff. I think the girls are meant to become her Valkyries.”

  “What the hell’s a Valkyrie?”

  “German angel of death, basically.”

  “That doesn’t sound particularly good.”

  “No, it really doesn’t.”

  The sheriff scratched his head. “All right then, so how do we get the girls back?”

  “I think I know where Holda has them captive. I’m going to fight my way in, break a whole bunch of stuff, and kill people until Holda lets the girls go.”

  “Well, that certainly is direct. I like it. You want some company?”

  “Sorry, Sheriff. I have to do this one alone. You’d spook the Moss Maiden, and she’s my only way into the Otherworld.”

  “What in the hell’s a Moss–you know what? It doesn’t matter. You confident you can rescue the girls?”

  I stared at the firelight. The pumper trucks had pulled back around and were spraying down some of the burning buildings. They were going to need backup to get all of the fires out. “No,” I said.

  The sheriff made a grim face. “Well, thanks for being honest about it. So if you can’t rescue these girls, and they really do become angels of death or whatever, what do we do? How do I protect this town?”

  “Silver. Silver is anathema to most supernatural creatures. If the girls have Valkyries inside of them, it’ll burn them to the touch. A silver bullet or a silver blade will kill them.”

  Skerrit regarded me with level, cool eyes. “I don’t much fancy the idea of killing innocent girls, Mr. Lyndsey. Some of them wasn’t old enough to drive.”

  With those words, all of the strength, all of the fight, drained out of my body. “I know. But if they come back as Valkyries, they are going to slaughter anything in their path. If it’s them or you …” I shook my head. “Tell everyone to stay inside. According to the legends, the Wild Hunt targets people caught outdoors. I think people will be safe if they stay inside.”

  “You think?”

  “Sorry, Sheriff. This isn’t an exact science. I’m doing the best I can, just like you.”

  “I suppose that’s true.” The sheriff sighed. “You heading off on that rescue mission?”

  “Yeah.”

  He held out his hand. “Good luck, son. I ain’t a praying man, but my thoughts are with ya.”

  We shook. “Thanks, Sheriff. Neither am I. Any chance I can get a lift back to my car?”

  “Sure thing.” He led me to his patrol car, a white Crown Victoria, and opened the passenger door. Guy didn’t even make me ride in the perp cage.

  Skerrit settled into the driver’s seat. “This was a quiet town, ’till you showed up.”

  I watched a column of smoke rise up into the gray sky. “No, Sheriff, it wasn’t. I don’t come to quiet towns. I come to towns with secrets.”

  “Secrets,” the sheriff muttered. “Don’t do nobody a goddamn bit a good.”

  ***

  The sheriff dropped me off at the bed and breakfast. A solitary light burned in the living room window. Ethel was probably sitting by the fireplace, waiting for her granddaughter to come home. I should have gone in, told her what had happened and what I intended to do about it, but I couldn’t. Ice giants and death angels were one thing, but the broken heart of a kindly old woman was something I just couldn’t face. So, like a coward, I climbed into my Jeep and headed back to Tiger Mountain.

  I drove fast, white-knuckling the steering wheel the entire way. I drove in as far as I could, then ditched the Jeep, grabbed a flashlight, and started running through the woods. I didn’t have a tracking spell to lead me, but the glen that served as the gateway to Holda’s domain was almost exactly at the base of one of the six mountains, and that was one hell of a landmark. Soon–relatively speaking–I emerged from the forest and into the clearing that led to Holda’s subterranean abode.

  “Hello!” I called out. “Is anybody here? Esmeralda?”

  “Hello, Caden,” the Moss Maiden’s voice came from behind me.

  “Esmeralda,” I said, relief flooding my voice. “I was worried Holda had scared you off.”

  She smiled, a small, sad expression. “No, I’m still here.”

  “Thank God,” I said. “Esmeralda, I need you to open a way to the Otherworld for me. Holda has taken my friend prisoner, and I have to rescue her.”

  “I know,” the Moss Maiden said, looking at her feet. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”

  “What? What are you talking about? If you’re afraid of Holda, I promise I’ll protect you. I’ll–”

  “No, no,” Esmeralda said. “I’m not afraid. Well, I am afraid, but that’s not why I can’t help you. Holda has sealed this passageway. The gate is closed, even to me.”

  “What do you mean? Can’t we pry the door back open?”

  “I’m sorry, Caden,” the Moss Maiden said softly. “Holda’s magic has grown very strong. There’s nothing I can do.”

  “I … oh.” I turned around in circles, like I expected a passage to Holda’s Otherworld to open up anyway. When it didn’t, I just sat down, staring at the ground in front of me.

  The Moss Maiden wrapped her tiny arms around me. “I’m sorry, Caden.”

  “I know. I know.”

  I’m not sure how long I sat there. The Moss Maiden had disappeared by the time I stood up. I fumbled my way back through the woods, to the Jeep, and slowly drove back to the bed and breakfast.

  Ethel looked up as soon as I opened the door. “Miranda?” she asked, hopeful, as she rose from her chair.

  I shook my head. “I’m sorry.”

  Ethel stared at me, her mouth hanging open. “Oh. Oh, my.” Her hands began to tremble. She touched her mouth and collapsed back into her seat. I pulled a
chair up next to her and covered her hand with mine. We sat in silence, sharing our misery.

  December 26th

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  If you really want to see what someone’s made of, threaten their children.

  Ethel was devastated. She had been struggling to cope with the strange things happening in Mirrormont, with the knowledge that the world was so much bigger, stranger, and more dangerous than she had ever conceived, and losing Miranda to that weirdness was just too much for her. She shut down, spending the entire day in her rocking chair in front of the fire, worrying yarn with her crochet hooks but making no progress. I made her breakfast, toast and tea, but she didn’t even acknowledge them.

  At twenty-two years old, Miranda was one of the oldest taken. Most of the girls who answered Holda’s siren song were still in high school. In all, thirty-one girls had walked through solid doors, wandered into the night, and joined Holda’s congregation. They had laughed and danced and fed, and if the rules of Otherworld held true, that meant they were lost, bound body and soul to the Otherworld.

  The sheriff called a town-wide meeting to discuss the night’s events. We assembled in the elementary school gymnasium. Parents wept and hugged and looked to the sky for help. An uncomfortable number of them were carrying rifles. I sat in the back, silently listening to the heartbreak, pleading, and anger of the parents I had failed. Sheriff Skerrit assured the parents that he and his men were doing everything possible to ensure the safe return of Mirrormont’s girls. He was telling them the truth, as far as he knew. I hadn’t told him how hopeless I felt.

  Consuming the food or drink of Otherworld makes you a prisoner, like Persephone in Hades. I don’t understand why, but it’s an old, powerful magic. Something about having a part of the Otherworld inside of you binds you to the Otherworld, and once that happens, only the creature who bound you can set you free.

  Holda wasn’t likely to release her new Sisters. She wasn’t just building an army, she was building a family. She missed the children and siblings Wotan had slain when the Aesir attacked the Valar, and now that she had made her way to our world she was, in her mind, putting things right. There was nothing I could offer Holda that would make her release Miranda and the others.

  And that meant I was just going to have to kill her.

  I hoped that destroying Holda would free them, but it was just that–a hope, not a guarantee.

  “I want everyone indoors before nightfall,” the sheriff said, his mustache bobbing up and down as he spoke. “I expect the kidnappers to come back tonight, and I want the streets cleared so my boys can take them on.”

  The meeting turned ugly in an instant. Mothers broke down sobbing, fathers jumped out of their chairs, pointing and cursing. “What the fuck do you mean they’re coming back?” one man shouted, spit flying from his mouth.

  “How the hell do you know what they’re gonna do?” another man demanded.

  “Are they going to take more of our children?” a mother asked in between racking sobs.

  The sheriff waved his hands, trying to get everyone to calm down. “Look, folks. I don’t know much more than you do. I don’t have any great insight into what these bastards have planned. But it doesn’t make sense to do this to our town and then just run off, does it? They must want something, right? So we just need to be ready when they come.”

  The crowd murmured amongst themselves until one of the firefighters from the previous night stood up and raised his hand. The sheriff called on him. “Tony?”

  “So, uh, what about the troll?”

  The sheriff’s face turned red, and he stammered for a moment. “Come again?”

  “The troll. That thing we froze solid with our hoses last night? The thing that wrecked the courthouse?”

  The crowd didn’t like that. About one quarter of the people laughed, another quarter rolled their eyes, and the remaining half got angry. “This ain’t no time to joke around, Tony,” one guy said. “My little girl is missing.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” Tony said, hand held out in surrender. “But I know what I saw, and I saw a goddamn troll.”

  The crowd started shouting again. The sheriff tried to calm them down, but no one seemed particularly interested in listening to him. Finally another guy stood up on his chair and waved his hands for attention. “Listen, everybody, listen up! Tony ain’t joking around with ya. Me and my boys were out behind the courthouse this morning, cleaning up. There was this big ass block of ice, more than ten feet tall, so thick we had to go at it with jackhammers. And sure as shit there was something inside of it, something that looked like a man, except it weren’t no man. Now look, I ain’t saying I know what’s going on here, but if Tony wants to call that thing a troll, well, I ain’t gonna argue with him. You can ask any of my boys, they’ll tell you the same thing, hand to God.”

  “Bullshit,” someone called out. A bunch of people agreed with him. The first guy who had spoken, the guy with spittle on his chin, touched the butt of his rifle absentmindedly. The sheriff and I both saw it. Skerrit casually undid the strap holding his revolver in its holster. Christ.

  I stood up and walked to the front of the room. I stood there, silent, staring at the crowd until they shut up and paid attention.

  “It isn’t bullshit, and it wasn’t a troll.”

  “Finally,” a woman said, “someone with some sense.”

  “It was a frost ogre.”

  The woman stared at me for a beat. “Well fuck you, too.”

  “It was a frost ogre, and you can go see the pieces of it in the county dump if you’re so inclined. It was a servant of the thing that took your daughters, and I killed it last night.”

  Mr. Spittle got out of his seat and walked halfway down the aisle, jabbing an accusing finger at me. “I don’t know why you all think this is a good time for a practical joke, but my goddamn daughter is missing, and I don’t find any of this amusing. So unless you want a size twelve boot up your ass, I suggest you sit down and shut your goddamn mouth.”

  “This isn’t a joke,” I said, calmly, patiently. “I know this is hard to believe, hard to accept, but something evil has come to Mirrormont, and the sooner you deal with that, the better off you’ll be.”

  “What, the fuckin’ tooth fairy came and stole our girls?” Mr. Spittle asked. He laughed, but it was an ugly sound.

  “Her name is Holda. She used to be worshiped as a god by the German people. Five days ago, a pagan cult conducted a ritual that summoned her to Mirrormont. Now she’s free and building an army. I think she plans to destroy this town and kill everyone in it. I plan to stop her.”

  Mr. Spittle laughed and waved me away. “Okay, sure thing, buddy. Crazy son of a bitch.”

  The sheriff came up to me and put a hand on my arm. “Caden, I don’t think this is helping matters.”

  I summoned the Æther. Swirling, luminescent energy gathered around my hands, dancing like sapphire flames. The sheriff cursed and jumped back. The crowd gasped. People swore and prayed and cried. I let the energy build until it surrounded my entire body, sheathing me in fire that didn’t burn. I looked out at the crowd, at every single eye that stared at me in wonder, then dismissed the flames.

  Silence rained for a full minute. No one took so much as a single breath. Finally, Mr. Spittle spoke up. “It’s a trick. Just fuckin’ stage magic. Bullshit. Asshole.”

  “It’s not a trick. It is magic, but not the David Copperfield kind.”

  “Oh yeah? Prove it.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Shoot me.”

  Mr. Spittle stopped. I saw his brain slip a gear, then clang back into service. “What now?”

  “Take your rifle, point it at me, and pull the trigger. Shoot me.”

  Skerrit tried to move in between us. “Caden, I don’t–”

  I waved him off. “It’s all right, Sheriff. Trust me.”

  Mr. Spittle looked back at the crowd. “You are one crazy bastard, you know that? Someone needs to get this guy to
a head doctor.”

  “Come on,” I said. “Do it. What are you afraid of? Worried you’re going to miss? I’m like ten feet away. This should be easy.”

  The crowd stared at us with rapt attention. Mr. Spittle gaped at me. “You really want me to do it, don’t you?”

  “I truly do.”

  He unslung the rifle from his shoulder, raised it, aimed it at me. A handful of women started crying. A handful more covered their eyes. “I ain’t jokin’ around,” Mr. Spittle said.

  “Neither am I.”

  “Your funeral,” he said, and fired.

  Screams and shouts and cries rang out from the crowd. The sheriff ran his hand over his face and sighed. Mr. Spittle, though, just stood there, looking down the barrel of his rifle, staring at me. Or, rather, staring about six inches in front of me, where a bullet hung in mid-air, rotating slowly.

  I don’t go out of my way to show off my power. It raises a lot of question I can’t, or rather wouldn’t, answer, and most of the time people figure out how to explain it away, anyhow. People don’t want magic to be real. They don’t want monsters to lurk in the shadows. And for the most part, I have no reason to force them to believe. But Mirrormont was under siege, and these folks needed to know what they were dealing with. They also needed to know that I knew what I was talking about. I walked forward, grabbed the bullet out of the air, and dropped it in Mr. Spittle’s hand. “Brass won’t do you any good. You need silver. Silver bullets, silver knives. It disrupts magic. It’ll slow down these monsters, even kill some of them.”

  “What about our girls?”

  “Your girls are possessed. They’ve been turned into Valkyries, death spirits. They belong to Holda now, and they’ll kill you if they catch you outdoors. So don’t get caught outdoors.”

  “Can we get them back?”

  God I was tired. Tired and weary and done, just done. I let out a deep breath, my shoulders sagging. “I’m going to try.”

  “This is heathenry!” A woman was standing up in the back of the room, pointing at me. She was wearing a gray dress, her hair was frizzy, and her eyes were wild.