The Wild Hunt

by Thomas Galvin

  “Drive!” I screamed as I let loose with more magical fire. The driver gripped the wheel with both hands and hit the gas. The truck lurched and shot down the road. The ruined tire flew off the rim and sparks shot into the air behind us. We were moving, but not very fast.

  Fortunately, we didn’t have far to go. I was able to hold off Wotan’s Riders while the truck lurched the remaining block to Miranda’s house, hitting them with light and fire whenever they drew near.

  We lurched to a halt in front of the DuBois’ bed and breakfast. I jumped from the truck bed before we had fully stopped and threw more light at the advancing horde, knocking two more Riders from their mounts and consigning them to dust. I walked sideways, firing blasts of magic and trying to lead the Hunt away from the truck and the innocent people inside. “Go!” I shouted.

  Miranda hit the ground beside me. “What the hell are you doing?” I hollered. The truck roared, spitting gravel at us, and staggered off into the night.

  “He’s after me,” Miranda gasped. “They’d just follow the truck if I stayed inside.”

  She was probably right. The other girls had been possessed by the Valkyries, too, but Miranda was the one Wotan noticed. She was the one who had claimed his wife. “Head for the clearing,” I said, staring at the Riders who bore down on us. “I’ll try to hold them back.”

  Miranda DuBois ran through the night. The demons followed after her.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The Wild Hunt closed around us, surrounding us, driving us further into the forest. Miranda ran, her blanket discarded and her gossamer gown shining in the moonlight, her red hair trailing behind her like a cape. Cold air braced my naked skin as I followed in her wake. The dark Riders pressed forward, blades and bows thirsty for our blood. I felt my strength returning as we drew closer to the three ley lines, the Æther swirling around me, replacing my exhausted human stores with the inexhaustible energies of the Earth itself.

  An arrow sang through the air, carved from bone, tipped with iron, and fletched with raven’s feathers. I slapped the air with the palm of my hand. Fifteen feet away, the Æther leapt to my bidding, forming a solid, invisible wall and deflecting the missile from its path. Light blazed from my hand and struck the bowman’s steed, knocking its feet out from beneath it. Both Rider and beast fell to the earth, and time claimed the fallen man.

  A Hunter charged forward, blood-flecked iron in his hand, aiming to separate my head from my shoulders. I wove the Æther around myself, forming armor that was impenetrable to all but the strongest attacks. The sword clashed against my will and was defeated. I took hold of the blade, the Æther guarding my hand, and pulled the Rider down.

  This one didn’t crumble to dust. His garments, the cloak he wore, the helmet that covered his head and the mask that concealed his face, became black smoke, writhing around him like a thing possessed, and melted to the earth, where it scorched the grass. The Hunter lay on the ground, human once more, wearing jeans and a flannel jacket. He looked up at me. “What happened?”

  “The hunt claimed you,” I said through gritted teeth. Light blazed from both of my hands, felling one Rider who sought to trample me and another that had aimed a spear at the man’s heart. I briefly wondered what kind of a man Wotan would call to ride in his company. “I suggest you run.”

  The man said nothing, simply scrambled to his feet and ran off into the darkness. Two Hunters gave chase, but blue-white light cut them down before they could overtake him. Another Rider took off down the footpath, crashing through the brush in pursuit of Miranda. Mystic light blazed, felling him from behind.

  I ran as fast as the Æther flowing through my body would allow, the light swirling around my hands illuminating my way, seeking the woman my visions had led me to, the woman fate demanded I protect. I found her in the clearing, near the remains of the Asatru’s sacred fire. She stood, knock-kneed and trembling, her face gone white, her eyes wide and afraid. But the Æther’s green fire danced around her, a perfect, impenetrable circle, a ward against the demons of Wotan’s Wild Hunt.

  The Riders circled her, testing her shield with ferrous blades, but the Æther bent to her will, resisting the brute force and dark magic of the spectral horde.

  I stood before her, a knight in luminous armor, wielding a power as ancient as our dreams, determined to give the enemy no quarter and surrender no ground. A demon on a blackened horse rode toward me, wielding a twisted pole tipped with a rusted, ruined hook. He swung the blade at me, seeking not to kill me but to hobble me, to open me up to his comrade’s attack. I raised my arm and summoned the Æther. The weapon crashed against my armor, and the glen filled with the sounds of white and black magic clashing.

  I grabbed the creature’s staff and tore it from his grip. The weapon’s dark enchantments sent ice rushing up my arms. I swung the blade once, hooking the Rider and pulling him from his mount. He crashed to the dirt and crumbled to dust. His steed reared back and ran off into the night. I cast the cursed weapon aside.

  Another Rider emerged from the darkness to my right. I turned to face him, my magic casting soft light on the surrounding trees. The horse raised its legs high into the air, set on trampling me down. I called forth the light and the demon fell before me.

  The Riders swarmed, attacking from the left and the right and behind. Blades hissed through the air. Light leapt from my hands. Chaos ruled and bloodlust reigned.

  A crashing blow drove me to my knees. A club struck my face. Dimly, I heard Miranda scream my name. Fear filled her voice, but I was filled with nothing but determination and rage. I reached deep inside myself and laid hold of the power of my anger, bending the Æther and the world to my whims. The Riders came, but my will was stronger than their blades, my magic more powerful than their enchantments. I released my power and a ring of azure flame tore through the night, felling my attackers. I climbed back to my feet. Blackened ash settled onto my skin.

  “Enough,” a voice boomed from the darkness. The Hunters obeyed instantly, lowering corroded weapons and calming rampant horses. In the shadows of the footpath, a single red gem blazed like the fires of hell. Hoofbeats echoed through the forest, each strike accompanied by a flash of sparks.

  Wotan emerged from the shadows, urging his mount forward into the moonlight. He was immense, his presence overwhelming. Sleipnir stood ten feet tall at the shoulder, and Wotan towered above him, his crown of antlers reaching almost twenty feet into the sky. His shoulders, wrapped in black and warmed by furs, were broad and powerful. His hands, one wrapped around the reigns of his beast and the other clutching his spear, were large enough to close around a man’s head.

  The other Riders fell still. Wotan goaded his horse once more, urging it another step forward and turning it to the side. He looked down at me with a burning red eye. “Well met, warrior,” he rumbled.

  “Nice hat,” I said. “Very pointy.”

  The Hunters grumbled their disapproval. Wotan laughed and waved them down. “You show no fear, mortal, even in the face of your certain doom. I like that.”

  “And you show no fear even in the face of certain condemnation by George Kotsiopoulos,” I said. Miranda stared at me. “What? I get cable.”

  “You have fought well,” Wotan rumbled. “My Hunters are shamed by the ease with which you led them to Hel’s gate.” The Riders grumbled again. “Truly you have earned a warrior’s death.”

  “That’s mighty nice of you, but I kind of prefer a warrior’s life.”

  Sleipnir huffed, smoke and flame rising from its nostrils. “I shall make you this offer,” Wotan said. “Join my Riders, take up mount with me, and Hunt in the darkness.”

  I ran my hand through my hair and scraped my foot on the forest floor. “Gosh, that’s a really nice offer, but I think I’m going to have to say no. I mean, I can barely ride a bicycle, let alone a horse.”

  The Hunters grumbled and Wotan’s eye flared. “I offer you glory and immortality, warrior. To deny me would be a grave insult … and cert
ain death.”

  “You have no idea how many times someone has offered me certain death.”

  “How many of those fools gather wayward souls from the four winds, mortal?” Wotan rumbled.

  “Okay, good point. Anyway, it’s a generous offer, but I’d like to counter.”

  The red eye glimmered. “A bargain?” Wotan chuckled. “What skill have you in deal-making, mortal? I traded my eye for wisdom profound. Do you think you can best me with your words?”

  “Well, no, actually. I think I’m just going to kick your ass.” I scraped my foot on the ground again.

  The Riders chuckle, and Wotan’s laughter echoed like thunder. “Your spirit amuses me, mortal, but my patience grows thin. Decide now: join my Hunt, or your life is forfeit.”

  “That’s not going to happen, Cyclops.”

  “Very well,” Wotan said, raising his spear. The tip began to glow, and static electricity filled the air.

  I scraped my foot on the ground one last time. “Lord Wotan, leader of the Wild Hunt, Claimer of Souls, I challenge thee to combat, your strength, your wisdom, your magic against mine. I challenge thee for my life. I challenge thee for these people. I challenge thee for this land.”

  Sleipnir reared up, four legs on the ground and four pawing at the air, flames coming from his nostrils. Wotan laughed, a crashing sound like massive drums pounding. “Consider carefully, mortal. If I win, you will have no place with my Riders.”

  “Agreed.”

  “If I win, this village and all in it are forfeit.”

  “Like you wouldn’t kill them even if I joined? Agreed.”

  “And if I win,” Wotan rumbled, “that woman will belong to me.” A chill went down my spine. “Your wench delivered my wife to Valhalla, mortal, and that makes her mine. When I defeat you, I will have her before your eyes. The last sight you see will be the desecration of her flesh.”

  I looked at Miranda. She stared back with wide eyes, but managed to offer the smallest of smiles. “He was gonna kill me anyway,” she said. She looked up at the Rider of the Storm. “Agreed.”

  The Wild Hunt cheered, and Sleipnir lifted all but its two rear legs into the air. Lightning flashed, striking Wotan’s spear, leaving it glowing with white-hot fire. “Then, mortal, to battle!”

  I hit the ground, my knees scraping on the frosty dirt, and slammed my hands down on the sigil I had uncovered. The Æther swam around me, and great torrents of power flowed through me, channeled by the three intersecting ley lines. I opened my mind and summoned it all.

  The energy was immense, overwhelming. Cold fire blazed around me and burning ice shot through my veins. The whole world stopped as the Æther became my senses, showing me the deepest secrets and hidden things of the forest. The echoes of the rituals that had been performed here and the memories of the sacrifices that had been offered here flashed into my mind in vibrant, vivid detail.

  The Æther consumed me and became me. The Wild Hunt cowered beneath me. Even Wotan’s unfathomable power became tiny before the unknowable energies of the very Earth. I towered over the forest and became the forest, seeing it and experiencing it all at once. This was my domain, my safe place, my place of power.

  I took hold of the Æther and focused it, shaping it with my mind and bending it with my will. Suddenly I saw it as a weapon to be wielded, not a force to be moved by. I saw it flowing through my body, down my arms, out my hands, envisioned it filling the circle I had carved in the dirt, illuminating the sigils I had etched in the earth.

  The Æther leapt to do my bidding.

  White and blue light shone from the glass-like salt that filled the sigils. The circle around the bonfire glowed like a brilliant emerald. Energy coursed along the lines connecting it to the other sigils. One by one the enchanted designs flared to life, activated by the ley lines’ massive power. Finally, the triangle connecting them all closed, locking in the spell.

  Three sigils. The first was the form of a wolf, rampant and terrifying, fetters falling from its legs, its name etched in the ancient alphabet of a forgotten tongue. The second was a binding, linking the creature’s mind to my own, making it subservient. The third and final sigil was a banishment to send the creature back to Hel.

  The sigils burned in my mind. The Æther flowed through my body. All that was left was to speak the name and call the creature forth.

  “Fenrir.”

  I know that it’s impossible, I know that I must have been seeing things, but it seemed like Wotan’s ruby eye grew wide, almost as if he was afraid.

  Again lightning flared overheard, cutting the sky like the sword of a god. It struck the first sigil, cracking the earth and sending stone and soil flying through the air. The glowing plasma cleared, revealing the form of a great wolf as tall as Wotan’s steed. Its fur was pitch black, its eyes burning red, filled with hate and with fire. Iron shackles closed around its four legs, broken chains dragging behind. Its mouth was filled with white knives dripping with blood.

  “Lord Wotan,” the beast spoke, its voice harsh and horrible. The creature raised its head high and howled, a baleful noise that chilled my soul.

  “Fenrir,” the Lord of the Hunt growled. “Who freed you?”

  “That would be me, Pointy.” I said. I closed my eyes once more and activated the second sigil, the binding spell that would tie the monster’s mind to mine. Lightning flashed again, striking the mandala. Fire raced back along the line connecting my circle to the sigil, roared up my arms, and exploded in my mind. For a moment I was blind, but then I saw … through the eyes of the wolf.

  We howled again, the wolf and I, our chest shaking with the raw power inside of us. We bent low, looking up at our enemy with red eyes, and scratched the dirt with our claws. A growl, low and loud enough to shake the trees above, rumbled deep inside of us.

  Sleipnir reared up, tearing the air with iron-shod hooves. Wotan cried out and raised his spear. Bloodlust stirred inside of us. This self-made king, this self-proclaimed god, had tricked us, bound us, and for that slight, he would pay.

  Our muscles bunched, our claws dug deep into the earth. Fire burned inside of us. We leapt forward, clearing the remains of the fire and the tiny humans who huddled below. Sleipnir took to the air as well and we met at the pinnacle of our arcs, crashing together like thunder. Our claws dug into Sleipnir’s flesh, our fangs sought Wotan’s throat. Wotan’s spear grazed our side. Hot blood steamed in the winter air.

  We fell back to the earth and whipped around, growling. One of Wotan’s Riders attacked, bringing an iron scythe down toward our neck. We shrank back, but only enough to let the blade pass harmlessly by, then rushed at the Hunter, knocking him from his steed. Our jaws closed around his throat even as he crumbled to dust.

  Flames burned in our eyes, fire kindled in our lungs. We raced toward Wotan, snapping and snarling. His great horse leapt over us, avoiding our bite, and we crashed into a mighty tree. The force of our blow uprooted the old evergreen, sending it crashing down to the earth. We spun around, pine sap in our fur, and attacked anew.

  Wotan threw his spear, a great and terrible lightning bolt that flew from his hand. It struck the ground before us, shattering stone and knocking us aside, but we would not be deterred. Again we assaulted our hated enemy, and again Sleipnir sought refuge in the air overhead, but this time our jaws closed around the beast’s leg, dragging it down to the earth. The beast cried out in pain. Wotan fell from his saddle.

  The Viking god rose to his feet, towering above us, and drew his sword. He strode forward, full of confidence and wrath, bristling with pride and fury. He slashed and cut, his weapon seemingly everywhere at once, but we cared not for our safety, only for his demise. We charged forward, roaring as our clawed feet propelled us toward death and victory. The sword bit into our shoulder and carved meat from our leg, but our wrath was strong enough to overcome any injury. We leapt upon Wotan, that so-called Lord of the Hunt, and brought him low, our great weight crushing him to the ground, our fierce jaws closin
g around his neck.

  He raised his hand. “I yield,” he said.

  “We do not accept,” we growled, and our jaws snapped closed. The Hunters wailed and raised their weapons, but the magic of the Hunt died with their leader, and the demons around us crumbled.

  I pulled my mind back from the great wolf. Fenrir howled in triumph, then turned toward Mirrormont. His bloodlust was not slaked. The giant beast raced toward the footpath, toward the city.

  I activated the final sigil. One last time the Æther bent to my will, and one last time lightning struck my working. The Fenrisulfr spun toward me and growled, but my banishment was already taking effect. The great wolf shimmered before us, becoming intangible, fading from view. He stalked across the glen, hatred burning in his eyes, but by the time he reached me, the last pieces of his being had faded back into the Æther from which I summoned him.

  Miranda dispelled her ward and rushed to my side. “Are you okay?”

  I smiled up at her. “Fuckin’ A right I am,” I said, and passed out.

  December 28th

  Chapter Thirty

  When I woke the next morning, the alarm clock by my bed was flashing 1:13, which told me two things: the power had recently returned, and Miranda had somehow gotten my unconscious body back to the bed and breakfast. And up the stairs. And, I realized when I pulled off the covers, out of my jeans and into a pair of sweat pants.

  Huh.

  My whole body ached. The sheer magnitude of the power I had summoned the previous night was staggering, and I would be feeling the physical toll for days. My spine popped as I stood up, my knees crackled as I walked, and my muscles complained every time I moved.