by M. K. Gibson
“It makes sense if you step back and look at the larger picture. We know where he’s going. But he’s stalling for time. Instead of going directly for the windgate, he is forcing us to protect our own. Forcing The Hunt to react to his terrorism rather than focus our efforts on tracking him down.”
“Should we divert a portion of The Hunt then? Send a cohort to the windgate?”
“And how do you think a smaller force would fare against this monster?” Chimera asked. The redcap said nothing and lowered his head.
Chimera shook her head in frustration. Without looking, she spoke over her shoulder to the dwarf who perched behind her on a frost-covered rock formation. “Kendall, what remains of the hunt?”
The bald, muscular dwarf stroked his beard. “With the recruits from the last three villages? Over a hundred, Huntmaster. But there are four more dead.”
“Who?”
“Oleg, Dimitri, Marrowsuckler, and Gurhl.”
“The bodies?”
“On display.”
“Show me,” Chimera demanded.
Kendall hopped off the rock and moved across the snowy ground with a bow-legged stride. The redcaps cleared a path for Chimera as she followed Kendall to the site. In the small clearing, it was as before.
The four Fae were butchered. Their insides hung from the trees in a macabre mockup of Yule decorations. The white ground was speckled red and green from the Fae blood.
“They did not obey your orders, Huntmaster,” Kendall offered. “They chose a secluded spot to make camp.”
“They were my responsibility,” Chimera said, looking at her dead friends. “How’s morale?”
“Honestly?”
“Yes.”
“Shit. Complete and utter shit.”
Chimera said nothing for the moment. Instead, she looked at the body of Marrowsuckler. The Hag and she once ran wild through the Hitherlands as friends. During tea time in the glade, Marrowsuckler regaled Chimera with tales of the ancient world when mankind feared the forest.
Beside the Hag was Oleg the Leshy. He was a good creature who used to protect lost woodland travelers. He endured imprisonment in the Hitherland with a smile on his face, a song on his lips. Oleg always kept faith that one day release would come. Together they recalled their favorite movies and fast-food meals. He spoke hopefully that the Fae would once more walk the world of Man.
Spoke, Chimera thought to herself. Never again would she hear Oleg’s song or be in the presence of his hopeful nature. For almost every member of The Hunt, Chimera had a tale of friendship. A shared memory. And he was robbing her of those friends.
“Where’s Ghost?”
“Searching, mistress,” Kendall said, pointing to where the giant armored form sat slack against a giant tree. The armor was vacant, nothing more than a shell.
Nodding, Chimera took a solemn moment to look over the bodies of her dead friends before whispering, “Cut them down. Prepare the funeral fire.”
“Yes, Huntmaster.”
Within an hour, four pyres burned brightly in the circular clearing of the snowy forest. The falling snow collided with the intense heat of the fires, melting into a misty nimbus. The clearing soon filled with a foggy mist.
The land of Caern Frigidia remained unrelenting, ever cold. Those Fae not born of winter wrapped themselves in cloaks while their breath came in steaming gasps.
Chimera took her place, standing atop an old stump and preparing to perform The Rites of the Fallen Hunter. Eyes closed, the Huntmaster held her arms out. Taking a deep breath, she sang the first note of the dirge.
The Hunt responded weakly, singing The Rite out of obligation rather than emotion. Conviction did not fuel hearts of those who sang for the dead. Exhaustion and misery hung on their being.
And fear.
Fear of the very being who once drove the proud people of the forest and earth into this damned prison. Fear of a final end for those who knew only eternal life.
Chimera stopped the Rite, ceasing her song. “Wild Hunt . . . bah. The most feared curse in all of myth and legends. Are you only truly wild when the quarry is meek game? You disgust me,” she said, the words a venomous sneer upon her lips. “We have kin who are dead. No longer will they feel the wind or taste the rain. And here you huddle like broken men. You are the Fae. Children of the elements. The Wild Folk. Out there? That is just a man! A man who robbed you of the free world! You are afraid!”
“You are not one of us!” a spriggan called out from the gathered Fae.
“You do not know what he did to us over the centuries!” cried a group of fairies in unison.
Drawing her cold iron whip from her hip, the Huntmaster unfurled the weapon and gave it a resounding crack. All eyes of The Hunt, which moments before had stared at the snowy ground, were now upon her.
“I don’t know?” her voice seethed. “I was THERE when the windgate was closed and we were sealed in. And his betrayal to me still burns like iron to the flesh!”
“You’re all out of line,” Kendall said, scolding the Fae. “True, Chimera was not born one of us. And I hated her long before we came here. But she’s been Fae for almost two centuries. She knows our stories, she knows our songs. And the elders among us know what she did for us before the Hitherlands was our prison.”
The dwarf’s words hung on the air, and no one dared speak. Chimera gave her lieutenant a nod, then cast her gaze upon the Wild Hunt. The tension built as the silence continued. Chimera danced on a razor’s edge. If she pushed them too hard, they would break. If she backed down, they would turn their frustration and fear upon her.
In a moment of blessed mercy, a streak of silvery blue light zigzagged through the snow and darkness. The beam of pure energy vanished inside the gigantic suit of metal armor as Ghost found his way home.
The sound of clanking metal broke the silence as Ghost’s metal form rose. Her closest ally turned, searching for her. “CHIMERA.”
“I’m here, friend. What did you see?”
“HERE,” the rumbling voice boomed.
“Who?”
“GRIMM.”
No sooner had Ghost’s spectral voice given the warning than all the funeral pyres doubled in size. The fire emitted horrible crackling and pops. The soaring flames scorched the treetops. All the Fae were forced to shield their eyes from the sheer power of the radiating heat.
As quickly as the bursting fire came, the pyres were snuffed out, dropping the clearing into complete darkness. A voice, magnified by arcane means, echoed through trees.
“Wild Hunt, I applaud your efforts,” Grimm’s voice came. Directionless, the mage’s somber voice seemed to roll along the snowy ground, creeping and twisting through the land.
“If you continue your pursuit, I will be forced to bring swift and terrible finality to your existence. Thus far I have been . . . polite, only taken what I absolutely needed. Done only what I must. I lament killing your comrades, but I will slaughter each and every one of you if you continue along this path. This is your final warning.”
The voice stopped, retreating into the darkness. Each of the Fae listened to the dark prophecy, unsure of what to say or do. Only the slight sound of falling snow was heard amid the stunned silence of The Hunt.
“No. He’s bluffing,” Chimera said to herself, shaking her head. “He’s been running for so long, his power must be reaching its limit.”
“AGREED.”
“Huntmaster,” Kendall said, getting Chimera’s attention.
“What?”
“The Hunt. It’s leaving.”
Fae were turning and leaving. Some walked silently towards the nearby village. Some simply walked into the forest. Others quietly walked back the way they came, returning to their homes.
“Get back here!” Kendall called out. “Cowards!”
“No,” Chimera said, placing a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Let them go. They’re scared and they should be.”
“But mistress, the Hunt?”
“I
t’s not over. Ghost and I will continue.”
“I will come with you.”
“No, old friend,” Chimera said. “Return to Loreholm. Tell the Green Man what has happened.”
“I have a feeling he already knows,” Kendall said, pointing to a small flock of blackbirds perched high above.
Chimera nodded. “Yes, he probably does. But if The Wild Hunt fails, if I fail, you know what he will do. No more true Fae need die this hunt.”
Kendall tightened his jaw, then rubbed at his bald pate. “You be safe, girl. I mean it. I know you two have a past. But I’ve been running from that one for centuries. He’s more dangerous than you can possible know.”
Chimera looked towards the smoldering, charred wooden pyres of her fallen friends. The smoke and ash of their bodies mixed with the falling snow. “I know exactly who he is, Kendall.”
“He won’t harm me,” Chimera said as Ghost came to stand next to her. Looking up at her giant friend, the Huntmaster smiled.
“But we sure as hell can hurt him.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Many People
Now, near First Heaven
“Arise, lost sheep, and rejoice in the glory of a fallen kingdom,” a deep, booming voice called to me. “Awaken, and see the Hell your actions have wrought upon a doomed world.”
I opened my eyes slowly. Above me, Chael had his sausage-sized fingers in his mouth, pulling his cheeks back as he waggled his drooling tongue back and forth.
“What are you doing, Chael?”
“Soothing your broken mind.”
I close my eyes in time as a wad of his spit hit my forehead. “Gross,” I said with a weak laugh, wiping the spit, and my memories, away.
“You live. I am pleased. I would not deny you the privilege of darkening the world even a single lumen of his grace.”
“Where’s TJ?” I asked.
“The youthful avatar of hope slumbers in a state of death and life beside his guardian.”
“What?”
“He’s next to you, kid,” Riggs’s voice said from behind me. “You sure you fought in the wars? Your situational awareness is shit.”
“Hey!” I said, rolling to my side to look at Riggs, “I’ll have you know . . . ow, shit!” I exclaimed, falling off the mag-lev lift I was being transported on. I hit the ground with a thud and tore out the IV tube in my arm.
“Complete shit,” Chael agreed with Riggs’s assessment.
“Shut up,” I grumbled. “Where are we?”
“Deep within the rumbling gullet of the firmament, the prison of the elders,” Chael said with excitement.
Looking around, I saw that we were in some sort of tunnel. Like the tunnel through which I was brought to the processing room, this one was circular in shape with segmented ridges, carved out of white stone. There was rumbling in the tunnel, far below, and the walls were wet.
The tunnel sloped downward. I could feel cold and moisture around us. Wherever we were going, it was deep in the earth. Riggs offered me his hand. I took it and stood up. I touched the wall, pulling back a viscous clear fluid.
“What is this?”
“In the wake of the maggots of festering slumber we march.”
I ignored Chael’s insanity to look TJ over. The kid was asleep on the mag-lev mover. There was an IV hooked up to him as well with familiar-looking base materials. Looking at him, I had a small flashback to when I was a kid and the same thing was done to me.
“Did it . . . did it work?”
“Yeah,” Riggs said. “He’s going to be fine. More than fine, if your system serves as an example.”
“How did you know about me?”
“We’ll talk about that later. We still have a lot to do,” Riggs said, dismissing the question as he began pushing the mag-lev further down the tunnel.
If Riggs really did infuse some of The Collective into TJ to save his life, then his world forever would be changed. Back when I was injected, The Collective was young and growing, and it took years for me to come into my abilities. But since The Collective had had about two hundred years to evolve, TJ would change much faster. I hoped Taylor would forgive me.
Hell, I hoped TJ would forgive me for what was to come.
The truth was, I didn’t want to explain to him what came next. Once he reached full maturity, his aging would slow. It would look like everyone was passing him by. He’d get older, but be trapped in a younger body.
His mind would advance, but he would be young. It sure made dating something of a bitch. Anyone of my actual age thought I was a kid. Anyone who looked my outward age was a child to me mentally.
But it did give me the near-immortal life I had now. Thanks to it, I got to watch all my friends die. Thanks to it, I got to live and fight through wars and cold and starvation and pain and . . .
Oh hell . . . the kid was alive, and that was what most important. As long as I didn’t do anything too stupid, like get dead, then I’d be there to guide him.
It was then that I noticed there was a familiar weight around my waist. I looked down and my gun belt and blasters were back.
“Thanks,” I said as I readjusted the belt.
“Welcome,” Riggs said. “Nice custom work. You do that?”
“Some,” I answered. “A friend did the rest.” I looked at Riggs, then at Chael. “I take it you two know each other?”
“What? Me and . . . ‘Chael’, is it?”
“Yes,” Chael rumbled.
“He and I go way back. But based on his current state, I’m doubting he remembers too well.”
“I know all what was and will be, from the shores of time to the deserts of entropy.”
“Why is a raven like a writing desk?” Riggs asked.
“I hate you.”
“Mutual. It took forever for my hip to heal from that one time.”
“Good.” Chael smiled as the two of them walked ahead.
What were they talking about? I reached in my pocket for a smoke and to my surprise, I felt something in my coat. Two somethings to be exact. I pulled them out to inspect them. One was a metal case and the other was a Zippo lighter. They were just like the ones Riggs had. Turning them over, I noted they were not the same ones, but very similar. A gift from Riggs?
I pressed the small button along the edge of the metal case and the box sprang open, the old springs still working like new. Inside were old-world cigarettes aligned perfectly and held in place by a spring-levered metal flap.
Salems.
Smiling, I took one out, tapped it against the case, and put it between my lips. Closing the case, I put it back in my pocket while I looked the ancient Zippo over. It was beat up, but in working order. The old lighter had an engraved image, that of a lighthouse, with the words “Nova Scotia” under it.
Nova Scotia was a rather awesome province in former Canada. New Scotland had good music and great beer. I pinch-snapped the lighter open and flicked the steel wheel against the flint, sparking the lighter to life. I lit the smoke and breathed in the old-world perfection.
I closed the lighter and looked at it. Something about that lighter tickled a memory as I turned it over and over in my hands. I knew that lighter. From where? That was the problem with an immortal life. Memories fade. But this lighter was from my past. I knew it. Putting the lighter back into my coat, I caught the rest of their argument.
“. . . You were an anathema to The Plan. It is your fortune that I no longer care or feel the songs,” Chael said.
“Bitch bitch bitch. Just because I tried to destroy the world a few times I get labeled an ‘anathema’.”
Chael’s dead eyes flashed blue as he stared at Riggs. “You were supposed to learn a lesson. You were always meant to learn a lesson. Each time a path was set before you, and yet you always went the wrong way,” Chael said as something inside him was breaking through.
“Yeah yeah, I know. I knew then and I know now. I eventually figured it out. Just too late to make it matter.”
“But now you can be part of the new plan.” Chael smiled.
“The new plan? Yeah, that’s not happening. I’ve way too much invested in this world now.”
“What’s with you two?” I asked.
Riggs cocked his head to the side and half shrugged. “Eh, he’s tried to kill me in the past.”
“Tried? Bah.”
“OK, fine, you succeeded a few times. Happy?”
“Yes.”
Riggs said with a shake his head, “And sure, I may have enslaved him a time or two.”
“Who the hell are you?” I asked.
“He has been many people,” Chael answered. “He has been The Killer. The Usurper. He who wrestled with Angels. He has been The Earthly Master of Angels and Demons alike. The greatest Mage of his time. He who controlled the earth-moving Shamir.”
“Shamir?”
“Creatures I bent to my will. Sightless Lesser Deep.”
“Maggots of the Elder Sleepers,” Chael added.
“Something like that,” Riggs added. “They can burrow and carve rock like none other.”
“He was also once the offspring of David and Bathsheba,” Chael said. “And so many more powerful and horrible people.”
That last bit sparked an old Bible story. David, who killed Goliath, became a great king. And he saw a woman bathing and had her husband killed so he could have her himself. The beautiful Bathsheba. And their son became the greatest and wisest king in all of the Bible.
“Do you mean . . . Solomon?”
Chael grinned. “Yes. Solomon.”
As Chael said that, the tunnel came to an opening into a colossal underground cavern. And in the center of the cavern, I saw . . . it.
“By the power of Indiana Jones . . .”
A temple. A massive temple of white stone in the middle of the cavern. Illuminated by soft iridescent lights set up along the walls, it looked as if the temple was partially constructed from the very stone of the cavern. It reached into the solid rock walls at odd angles and the entire complex had a sense of connection.
The feeling was hard to describe, but it felt like the temple was here and yet elsewhere at the same time. The entire edifice practically hummed with otherworldly power. This place was special. It was . . . amazing.
