Angels and the Bad Man

by M. K. Gibson

  Once more, TJ yelled in a different language. The only thing I picked up was “Kola.” Murmurs rippled through the people and they began looking sideways at one another, waiting for a group decision.

  Macha called out in the same language, as did the big guy, Akecheta. Slowly the people began putting their weapons down.

  “Holy shit, kid,” I said, nodding in approval.

  “That’s what I was trying to tell you. I think these are The First People of the Nation. Or just The People.”

  “The what now?”

  “You wouldn’t understand, you’re a city dude,” TJ said. “Out in the wasteland, there are pockets of humanity. And there are groups of The People. They typically keep to themselves.”

  “Who taught you this?” I asked. Granted, I hadn’t ventured far into the waste since the end of the wars, keeping mostly to a few outer towns and free-farms within a day or so of New Golgotha.

  “My dad. He taught me a few phrases. He said some of The People used to trade with Midheim, but I never met one. And he never mentioned they could do . . . that.” The kid gestured at those who remained in their buffalo form.

  The gathered people moved aside as an older woman made her way to TJ and me. She was dressed like Macha in clothing made from Abomination hide. But there was something else about her. She was fit, respected, older but not ancient. Her gray hair hung long in the front and braided in the back. Her clothing was adorned with small trinkets and she carried a heavy walking staff.

  I assumed she was some type of leader based on her bearing and the respect given to her by the people she passed. She was flanked by two giant hybrid buffalo-men who, in the light of day, looked more like minotaurs.

  Macha and Akecheta both bowed her head slightly as the older woman approached. “Ehawee.”

  “Macha, Akecheta.” Ehawee nodded back to them before looking at TJ and me. The older woman regarded us with an appraising look.

  Not knowing what to do, I snubbed out my old cigarette in the snow, placing the butt in my pocket, and lit another. Ehawee said something in another language, and one of the hybrid men grunted and stomped towards me. The big creature took the cigarette from my mouth and handed it to Ehawee.

  The old woman accepted the smoke and took a long drag. Her eyes rolled back in her head for a moment in joy.

  “Goddamn, I miss these,” Ehawee said with a grin. The old woman enjoyed the smoke as she once more stared at TJ and me. “You are not demons.”

  “Uh . . . no?” I said, unsure of what the hell was going on.

  Ehawee frowned. “Well, shit.”

  Chapter Nine

  Against All the Fae

  Day Zero of The Wild Hunt

  The concept of running for your life while being hunted was . . . unsettling. Being tracked to the point of exhaustion, collapsing, then being ripped apart was admittedly not an ideal way to see the rolling hills, forest, and endless glades representing spring, autumn, winter and summer.

  But, Grimm mused to himself, it was definitely not boring.

  Boredom was the bane of an immortal existence. Boredom was a creeping, gray, seeping sickness. Seeing the same types of people, the same history, and the same events play out over and over was maddening. But with the proverbial (and in this case literal) angry mob at his back, Grimm repressed a smile. In a masochistic sense, he was enjoying this. The thrill of the hunt, the excitement, the blood and adrenaline.

  Grimm decided when this was over, it was definitely time to take up paintball again.

  Of course, he would need Salem and Tesla to rebuild the equipment and reinvent the sport. But worthwhile endeavors were worth the effort. Now, all he had to do was survive The Wild Hunt.

  Grimm was led to the gates of Loreholm by two lumbering, rough-handed ogres, who stripped him of his weapons and artificing equipment. He was shoved when his pace was too slow. The thick-skulled creatures were oblivious that his stride was deliberate.

  Assuming the facade of a fearful man, Grimm took his time in silent, slow steps. To the Fae, he appeared afraid. In fact, he was assessing the gauntlet of would-be hunters. Grimm mentally noted which creatures were present, their strengths and known weaknesses.

  The Green Man watched Grimm from atop a grand stag that resembled a deer, but was easily the size of an elephant. The majestic beast had eight legs, massive antlers, and a pair of razor-sharp horns that curled around its head.

  “Father Grimm, this night you have been sentenced to be the quarry of The Wild Hunt. When I blow the horn, the hunt begins. You will be given a brief head start, then every Fae residing in The Hitherlands will stalk you. When you are killed, your corpse will be hung in the grand hall. And in time, I will personally carve out your skull to serve as my new drinking chalice.”

  “I was under the impression that I had a chance to survive.”

  The Green Man smiled. “Technically, yes. In order to survive the hunt, you must reach the portal that links The Hitherlands to the Prime Material plane.”

  “I will greatly enjoy defeating you,” Grimm said in a low tone so that only The Green Man could hear.

  “Oh, little man-thing, your hubris is delicious. But you forget the rules this realm. This place is not his His creation. My power holds it together. Therefore, my rules. You know what this means.”

  Grimm’s smirk dropped and was replaced by a stone-faced glare towards The Green Man.

  “I see you understand. Your magic? Meaningless here,” he said, shaking his horned head.

  Grimm’s shoulders slumped. His knees bent involuntarily, causing his body to sway. He had to catch himself lest he fall over. The Green Man watched Grimm with delight in his emerald eyes. He pressed the fact, leaning forward on his mount, which growled and stomped its hooves, reacting to its master’s will.

  “In this realm, you have nothing to draw from. Nothing to rearrange. In essence, you are impotent. You will run, and you will die. I do hope you give us a grand chase. But I believe you too reliant on that which made you special out there. In here, you are the weakest being in the realm. A feeling I am sure you are not accustomed to.”

  Grimm said nothing, unable to return The Green Man’s gaze. He simply stared at the ground as the lord of The Hitherlands laughed.

  “The feeling you are having right now is fear. Something you probably haven’t felt in a very long time. I am pleased to be the one to re-introduce you to it.”

  Grimm mumbled something intelligible. The once proud and powerful mage was so shaken that even his normal candor was diminished.

  “What was that?” The Green Man asked. “I was unable to hear you.”

  Grimm lifted his head a little, still unable to look directly in his adversary’s eyes. “So,” he began quietly, searching for his voice. “So, I only have my wits, mortal skills, and present abilities then? Against all the Fae of The Hitherlands?”

  “Yes.”

  “How am I to survive then?”

  “I do not expect you to.”

  “Then I will die here.”

  “Exactly. I think a honey wine will be the first thing I enjoy drinking from your skull,” the Green Man mused.

  Grimm lowered the brim of his hat and walked on his own volition to the stone archway of Loreholm’s main gate. The large circular doors were swung wide open, revealing a vast, dark forest.

  With a meek glance back over his shoulder, he looked towards The Green Man. “Let us just begin this charade,” Grimm said, his voice barely audible.

  “As you wish,” the Green Man said as he produced a curled ram’s horn and brought the device to his lips.

  Pausing, the Green Man looked down at Grimm who, with slumped shoulders, only looked towards the forest. He raised an eyebrow, considering the mage for a moment. Shaking his head in dismissal, the Green Man raised the horn once more.

  With no flourish, and no additional words towards his people, The Green Man blew a single, piercing note.

  The signal for The Wild Hunt to begin.

>   “Now run,” the Green Man commanded.

  And Father Grimm ran.

  Which he was very glad for, as he was unsure how much longer he could repress the laughter that threatened to burst forth.

  ********

  “How long a wait do we give him m’lord?” an elf asked.

  “Hmm? Oh, not too terribly long. We are only waiting for our Huntmaster.”

  “You’re not leading The Hunt yourself?” the elf asked.

  “I will orchestrate The Hunt from here. I have a very special individual in mind to lead,” the Green Man said, thinking over the events.

  “My lord’s will, of course. But, if I may be so bold, why not just run him down yourself?”

  “Because our enemy is crafty.”

  “He appeared to be broken, lord.”

  “That is what troubles me,” The Green Man said. “I have known that . . . creature for a very long time. I have never known him to be ‘broken’. Which is why I have called upon Chimera to lead the hunt.”

  “The Chimera, lord?” the elf asked before adding, “And her Ghost?”

  The Green Man smiled. “Yes. I think a family reunion is in order.”

  Chapter Ten

  As Long As Wakinyan Wishes

  Now, in the Waste

  The People’s venerable leader sat on a woven mat inside the large cave that served as a common area. Multicolored tapestries hung along the cave walls, giving the interior a comfortable, homey feel while also retaining heat in the winter. I sat opposite her by a small fire and she considered me with judgmental eyes.

  “Explain yourself,” Ehawee demanded.

  Explain myself? About a hundred smart-ass remarks ran through my head. But, looking at the older woman, I saw the respect and station she held. So I curbed my usual attitude.

  Also, there were bunch of buffalo minotaurs in the cave standing guard. I doubted they would tolerate my brand of humor.

  “What do you wish to know?” I asked Ehawee, trying to project an earnestness.

  “I wish to know why Wakinyan led us to you.”

  “Because I’m a popular guy?” Damn, I mentally kicked myself for the remark.

  I turned with my hands up at the buffalo minotaurs. “Sorry, sorry.”

  Ehawee gestured with her hand and the guards stood down.

  “Apologies,” I said. “Look, Ehawee is it? Ehawee, hi, my name is Salem. I’m a land baron in the Razor Bay district of New Golgotha.”

  “He works for demons,” Macha said from behind me.

  “No, no no no,” I said holding up my hands. “I don’t work for demons. In fact, they hate me. I was just in jail and—”

  “Jail? So you’re a prisoner.”

  “I was, but I broke out.”

  “You’re an escapee who’s hunted then?”

  “Yes—wait, no. That came out wrong. Look—”

  “Let’s just kill him,” Macha offered.

  “Let’s not do that,” I countered. “I’m a good guy, OK?”

  “Then why did Wakinyan want us to hunt a good person?” Akecheta asked.

  “What the shit is a ‘Wakinyan’? Wait, do you mean that big bird in the sky?”

  A guard behind me slapped the back of my head. “Ow, what the hell?!”

  “For your offenses, you have been punished,” Ehawee stated flatly. “Like a child.”

  “OK, cool,” I said, rubbing at the back of my head. “Can I know what I did so I don’t do it again?”

  “A fair question. You referred to Wakinyan as a ‘big bird’.”

  “OK, noted. But I still don’t know what Wakinyan is.”

  “The Thunderbird,” TJ said.

  “The boy is correct,” Ehawee said, eyeing TJ. “What do you know of her?”

  TJ looked to me. I just shrugged, then gestured towards the gathered campfire. “Go ahead, kid. Obviously I’m not doing so hot.”

  TJ nodded. “My dad told me a little. That the Thunderbird, Wakinyan, was—is—a great spirit that brings the storm and the thunder. She flies across the Great Plains and is a defender of The People. While she is not considered benevolent, she is a great power of justice.”

  “The boy is wise beyond his years,” Ehawee noted.

  “Tell me about it,” I agreed.

  “Ma’am, honestly, we don’t know why Wakinyan wanted us. We don’t even know where we are. We’re searching for something very important, and we have no time. The lives of Salem’s people, my dad, are on the line if we don’t find it and get it back.”

  “How did you get here?” Ehawee asked.

  Shit. How did we explain Chael? TJ looked to me, and I took the reins. “A friend . . . He brought us here. We killed some Abominations, then took shelter in a cave. Next thing we knew, that big b—Wakinyan brought the storm that scared my friend off. Then your herd of buffalo came running and we ran, not knowing who they were. I think you know the rest.”

  Ehawee nodded to the guards behind me, who struck me twice against the back of the head.

  “Goddamn, what now?!”

  “Two strikes for your continued ignorance.”

  “Shit, you better get ready then, because ignorance and charm is what I have in spades. Now, may I ask—again—what did I say wrong?”

  “You may. They are not ‘buffalo’. They are bison. Buffalo exist, or existed, in Africa and Asia. The North American bison were misnamed.”

  “Gotcha,” I nodded, rubbing my head. “Why didn’t you say anything about the Thunderbird earlier?” I asked TJ.

  “I was kind of busy almost shitting my pants and driving like crazy in the dark.”

  I shrugged. Kid had a point. I reached into my pocket for a cigarette, then paused, looking at Ehawee for permission. The older woman nodded, and I offered her the pack and the lighter.

  “Thank you,” she said, lighting the smoke. “Damn . . .”

  “You smoke?”

  “I used to. A long time ago,” Ehawee said, breathing out.

  A long time ago? I was getting the impression that Ehawee was older than she was letting on. No one out here should even have any old-world smokes. But hell, who was I to judge. “So, why did Wakinyan want us?”

  “That is the question,” Ehawee said. “Wakinyan does not directly interfere. She gives us guidance. And she guided us to you. Normally, Wakinyan shows our hunters where to find the Abominations, or a demon pack, so we may destroy them. Instead, she showed us you.”

  “Like I said, we took care of a few when we got here.”

  “I know. Thank you for the meat and the skins. The People are grateful for your gift.”

  “Uh, you’re welcome? Since we’re not demons, does this mean we may leave?”

  “No. You’re not demons, but you have the stink of them on you. If Wakinyan wants you, then we keep you.”

  “For how long?”

  “As long as Wakinyan wishes.”

  The way Ehawee replied, I had the impression this was not up for discussion. “So, are you going to kill us?”

  “Not unless Wakinyan commands it.”

  “So we’re what, prisoners? The kid wasn’t lying; we have a very strict timetable we’re working on. The lives of almost three thousand people depend on us.”

  “For that, I am sorry,” Ehawee apologized. “But you will remain here until we receive guidance. If you try and leave, you will be restrained. In the meantime, you are free to move about The People.”

  “That’s not acceptable,” I said, getting angry.

  TJ put a hand on my arm. “Ehawee, may I ask, how did The People come to be?”

  “You would do well to heed the child and temper yourself,” Ehawee said. Inclining her chin to Macha and Akecheta, Ehawee wordlessly summoned them to come closer.

  “Tell them our story.”

  Macha looked to Aketcha, who began. “The story of The People goes far back, before the end of days. When our ancestors were called ‘Native Americans’. We lived on what little land the white man saw fit to give back
to us after taking it from The First Nation’s people.”

  Macha next picked up the story. “The folly and fall of the white man came when he embraced his technology and created the tool of his destruction. Because of his sins against nature, the great rifts between planes were torn open. Wakan-Tanka, The Great One, The Great Mystery, retreated because of their transgressions. In his absence, monsters walked the land once more.”

  Akecheta spoke next. “The fall of the white man was rebirth for The People. In the war and chaos that followed, The People came together. When the walls of the great cities went up, the land was once again returned to The People. But the land was not empty. Those who embraced The People became part of The People. Those who did not, and did so with violence, were met with violence.”

  Macha took her turn next. “It was in these times when the great spirits once more spoke openly to The People. The great Abominations walked the land, and our task was given to us by Wakinyan. To find and destroy any demon we encountered. Whatever of the land was left we were to use for the betterment of The People. We had to be prepared. For greater enemies and darker times were to come. The Dark Walker, Unktehi, Wakinyan’s greatest enemy and father of the Abominations, roamed the open land. We must be strong enough to defeat it. So, Wakinyan bestowed upon us the gift of skinwalking, the ability to shift into animal forms.”

  “When Unktehi is no more, then The People must be ready for the great evil which poisons the land, deep below,” Akecheta finished.

  “Good.” Ehawee nodded.

  Looking at them in the firelight, I could see the resemblance. “Your children tell a wonderful story. I thank you for it.”

  “You seem to have learned temperance. Perhaps you’re not as dumb as you look.” Ehawee smiled.

  “No, he is,” TJ said, which caused all but Macha to laugh.

  “Come sister, that was funny,” Akecheta said.