by Stella Inox
“I am a token. I contain a measure of power that must not be misused. By accepting me completely, we shall become one. You and I shall belong wholly to the one who created me.”
Ryannon could feel her heart sink.
“Who created you?”
“I am here at the bidding of Cernunnos, Lord of the Forest and God of the Hunt.”
“Why?”
“To ensure that you would be his in all ways and for all time. Cernunnos, wishes you to know that you have a choice, and must accept what transpires of your own free will else the binding will not take.”
She wanted to scream.
“And what happens if I choose not to accede?”
“You may return to your life, and I shall remain here and judge those who come before me, so that I might find another who is not only worthy of the honor, but has the courage to accept me… and thus Cernunnos.”
Ryannon had never imagined that an inanimate object could sound so snarky.
She considered her options, turning the tiara in her hands. It sounded like the Forest Lord was giving her a choice to cross over or not. It was also obvious that if she didn’t, someone else, at some point would take her place. She wavered back and forth between the two options. Ultimately, she’d given her word, and as a half sprite, had never broken faith yet.
She placed the tiara firmly on her head.
“Ah…” it whispered. “I see why he chose you. We shall do well together you and I…”
Ryannon had been waiting for the blast of electricity to tear her away from the current realm; instead, she could feel power building around her. It crept up in increments, the air becoming heavy and weighted with promise.
“Let me in” sighed the circlet. The jewels in the headpiece lit up in a coruscating display that flashed colorful light throughout the cavern. Ryannon gasped, falling to her knees on the earthen floor at the sudden strain.
“Let me in!”
A crushing pressure hammered at her senses bringing agonizing pain to her mind. She held her head, fingers buried in her hair, rocking back and forth moaning at the burden.
“Don’t fight me Let me in…Ryannon, let go. You have to accept this, let me in!”
The half breed dropped her mental shield with a shriek and was instantly overwhelmed at the flood of potency that ripped through her body. The torment tripled as new pathways were laid down in her over-taxed brain. She could feel blood running through her hair as something punched from the crown, down into her skull until the grating of bone deafened her and she mercifully passed out.
Chapter Three
She came around, curled in a fetal ball on the floor. Lifting her head, she grimaced at the tightness of the muscles in her neck. Her throat felt raw as if she’d been screaming for a while. Every muscle in her body hurt, aching and complaining like she’d just run three marathons, back to back.
She reached up with a wary hand and felt about for the tiara which was small enough to be nearly lost amongst her silvery tresses. She flinched back with a muffled exclamation at the tenderness when she made contact with it. Ryannon grasped the top of it between questing fingers and tugged. The bruising pain almost made her throw up and she wobbled, light headed and trying not to pass out.
It was stuck tight.
She felt around, probed along the edge with gentle fingers but it was some moments before she truly understood. The tiara was no longer a separate head piece; it was a part of her now. That’s what it had meant when it spoke of the two of them becoming one. As much as she’d hated having to wear and then being unable to remove Herne’s torc, this was so much worse.
“Be at ease” whispered the light lyrical speech. “Herne’s torc was created as an instrument of destruction. That which I am, was encapsulated and given tangible form in order save lives, one in particular. I will not harm you unless you seek to misuse that which I hold.”
“You’ve already hurt me!” snapped Ryannon still feeling rough at the extent of the bruising. She could feel the tiara’s remorse.
“Although necessary, it was ill done and will not happen again. If you allow it, I can repair what was damaged.”
“I’d appreciate it” said Ryannon with pained sigh.
The tiara hummed, sending a soothing wave through her body. As the enchantment flowed across her limbs, the tired and sore woman relaxed, the exhaustion and pain dulling and fading until it left completely. Her shoulders slumped with relief.
“Are we going to be together now forever?”
“Nothing can part us but death. This form was created for you, and if you die before your time, than that which you see as my consciousness shall diminish too. But if the end game plays out, then we shall pass together to be reborn as something new.”
Ryannon blinked in surprise. Wow, they certainly were together.
“What end game? What do you mean by die together, or becoming something new?”
“I do not truly know. My understanding is limited, but all that I am and can be is woven within my gems. I was created for a purpose but I know it not. Whatever the reason, it is not to bring you harm.”
Ryannon considered that for a few brisk moments. She was not going to get answers so readily it seemed. Cernunnos was playing a deeper game than she could fathom at the moment. “OK, now what?”
“You have a promise to keep. With power comes responsibility.”
She looked over towards the split trunk but the expected wave of power creating a portal hadn’t come to take her away. “How do I get to Otherworld?”
“You have but to think it.”
The half sprite cocked an eyebrow. Could it be so simple? She focused her thoughts on the Otherworld, imaging the deep green of the trees and the bright sun. The picture was clear enough in her head that she could almost touch it.
The air in front of her tore open to reveal a new reality. Just as she’d pictured, the Otherworld was there, waiting. Stepping back in shock, she examined the portal with careful eyes. It seemed stable, throbbing in the air. Looking through it to the other side, she stifled a curse when she saw how low the sun was on the horizon. However long it had taken to bond with the tiara had eaten away the time that she’d left as a buffer.
According to the rules of the compact, the sacrifice had to cross over to Otherworld before the sun set on Samhain eve and then last the night without being captured to win a boon. Panicked, Ryannon hurtled through the portal with mere moments to spare as the sun dipped below the mountains, shooting a final few white gold rays across the rich land.
A lush mattress of dried leaves cushioned her fall, and she rolled to her feet. They crackled and hissed beneath her movements. As soon as she gained her balance, she was off like a puma, shooting for the densest part of the forest.
“Why do you run?” queried the tiara.
“So that we don’t get captured” whispered Ryannon in the quietness of her head. She was focused on maintaining the ground eating lope, easily vaulting dead wood and avoiding barriers. She wrapped herself in bands of glamourie as she fled.
“Who would capture us?”
“Cernunnos!”
“And this would be bad?”
“Yes! We don’t want our lives to be forfeit. After all, if I die, you die! You also promised that you wouldn’t bring me harm. Helping Cernunnos find me is definitely bringing me a world of pain.”
“You believe he will harm us? When I awoke in his hands he was gentle with me. I am uncertain as to why he would seek to cause us injury. I have slept, quiescent for centuries, what could his purpose be in awakening me just for destruction?”
“I’m not sure, but I’m not taking any chances. He’s now the Horned God, God of the Hunt, The Sidhe King and the Lord of the Forest. None of that gives me any comfort.”
The tiara was silent for a while.
“I am but a construct that contains power. You know this world and Cernunnos better than I. I shall do as you say and abide by your decision. I can hold the glamourie in place and hide you
while you flee with us to safety. Will this assist?”
“Yes, YES!”
Ryannon felt the burden of holding the screening enchantment lift as she ran. Such was the magic held by the tiara that she barely stirred the grass as she darted through it. The leaves on the trees didn’t bob as she passed, and no animals lifted surprised heads at her passage.
Far in the distance, she heard the long, sustained high note of a hunting horn. Cernunnos knew she was here somehow. The Hunt was being called to order. Even with the magics hiding her trail, it was merely a matter of time before they tracked her scent. But with the tiara helping, she had a real chance.
She kicked out harder, stretching her strides to cover distance faster. Herne may have run her to ground last time, but she was hell bound determined to be the victor against the new Hunt God.
Chapter Four
Cernunnos lifted his head from where he’d been rubbing the new stretch of antler against the rough bark to strip away velvet from bone.
She was here. She’d kept her promise and come to him.
His smile was small but genuine. There was a reasonable sized dose of feral mixed in with a good natured humor. After pulling the last trick to see Ryannon in her bedroom mirror and speak with her to remind her of her promise, she’d cast a spell to ensure that he couldn’t peek in her rooms again. He’d deserved that.
He pursed his lips in consideration. Stage one of his plan was in play. She was here and wearing his ‘gift’. Which tactics would be most likely to assure him the successful continuation of his stratagem? Best to play into her expectations, he thought.
The fleet sprite had absconded. He couldn’t yet sense her, but he was far more of a Hunter than Herne had ever been. Cernunnos had ruled this landscape long before the usurper had risen to assume his place. She was hidden from his many seeking eyes and ears, but he could still feel her passage across the landscape. It was as if she was running those delicate fingertips of hers across his chest.
The fox was fleeing, so it was only mete that he give chase. She might be disappointed otherwise.
Plunging his hands into a rift that opened in his chamber, he pulled his hunting horn through. Had anyone been watching, it would have seemed as if he’d just created it from thin air. He might be powerful, but not that powerful.
It felt good to have the ancient, polished bone back in his hands again. Losing it to Herne had been like watching someone mistreat an old friend. The one who held it could command the Sidhe, but using the Horn to force them to pursue innocents was anathema to what they were. Gold tipped mouthpiece raised to his lips, he blew a sustained brassy note that echoed across the valley.
The war like whoops of the Wild hunt sounded back as they gave assent. They would be summoning mounts and readying themselves for sport, but this hunt would different. The hunt would run, but just like in long forgotten times, they would run as a pack.
Cernunnos laughed joyfully.
Throwing the antlers back he gave in to the call, letting the wild magics seize him, twisting his form in a flurry of feral power. Falling to his knees, antlers shrinking and his bones crunching, he flowed into an older mold. Branches swayed and thrashed in the sudden wind and autumn leaves whirled around him, even as his laughter stretched and strained, becoming shrill, morphing into the high threatening howl of a Fen wolf.
The excited yells of the wild hunt changed tone. They, too, became more untamed and savage, as all of the two-legged predators forms gave way to Cernunnos’ s will, becoming four footed furred pursuers.
Rising to his feet, he shook himself vigorously. He knew what he looked like, but it had been eons since he had last been able to assume this form. His wolf shape was huge, standing a full four feet high at the chest. When he finally cornered Ryannon, he would be able to look her directly in the eyes. The falling breeze ruffled his iron grey and silver fur. Cernunnos gave a sharp lupine smile, tongue lolling. With such an important hunt, he’d no intention of leaving the trace to the inferior noses of the Fae hounds. His green eyes, so unusual in a Fen wolf were intent.
He drew himself up, shaking out the tremors once more and gave call with a long bell-like howl, summoning his hunt pack to his side. It was time to run.
They came, flowing out of the brush and tree line like a gray and black tide. Some scampered with their tails tucked fearfully between their legs, cowed by his power, scarred by the bad memories of recent years, while others frolicked joyfully, remembering the times long forgotten.
The True King had returned to them. What was rotten in the Sidhe world would be cut away, like a gangrenous limb, before his power. No more would they seek unlawful and unwilling prey from the back of domesticated horses. Shame was still a burning streak in the gullets of some of the oldest. Guilt was not a common emotion amongst the Sidhe but it burned in some of their craws for what they had become.
Cernunnos turned his green eyes on the pack. All had answered his summons. The old bonds were returning, and soon they would begin to remember who they were. Using every resource at his command, he was doing everything he could to make it so. It would take time to undo the damage, and he cursed his fallen predecessor in the silence of his mind, as some who had hunted by his side millennia ago dropped their eyes in shame before his gaze.
He snarled once, and the milling pack grew still, ears pricked and tails raised in eager expectation. Head cocked, he whuffed once before setting out in a long ground eating lope, making for where he last had sensed his target, before she’d disguised herself with her magics.
The pack fell naturally in behind him, as he led the way past the place where Ryannon had torn a new rift to gain entrance to Otherworld. He paused, wondering. It would seem that she had won the allegiance of his gift. To open a rift like this without assistance was beyond her natural half-breed talents.
Breathing deeply, he absorbed her delicate, lily-like scent into his nostrils and lungs. It was his now. His game was afoot. He smiled his toothy canine grin at the pun.
Turning his expressive, moss-green eyes on the waiting pack, he growled once. Illaynos, an older Sidhe who had once been his second, threw his dark canine head back and howled with glee, the rest following suit. They had caught the scent.
It was time to pursue.
Chapter Five
Ryannon topped the rise, moving freely, silvery hair streaming around her shoulders as she moved. Since the horn blast, there hadn’t been any sign or sense of pursuit. None. The tiara was certainly good at hiding her; she could feel the enchantment that still wrapped her. She couldn’t relax yet; Herne had been skilled enough at seeking to find her even through a similar blocking spell. Cernunnos was reputed to even better, so what was going on?
She shrugged, moving deeper into the woods. If she successfully made it through the night without being captured, then she got her life back somehow, right? She paused, listening intently as a subtle, intuitive warning coiled in her belly.
“Can you feel anything?” she asked the tiara silently.
“Something moves beyond my ken. It is old and powerful, and has kept pace with us for some time. But it drew no closer. Now that we’ve stopped, it turns its full attention on us.”
Ryannon cast her senses out. Something was there at the edge of her mind. A cold shiver wracked her frame, and an atavistic terror swamped her as memory overwhelmed her.
~
He rumbled in approval, and drew her blood streaked fist toward the grimacing cavernous mouth. A cold, wet, slug-like tongue lapped at her wounds and he gave a low growl of hunger, sucking at the lacerations his vines drew on her pale flesh.
She fought him, but her flailing did no good. He held her in an unbreakable hold.
“We can trade” she gasped, “I have power, all manner of tricks.”
“What need have I of such youthful follies?”
Additional vines exploded from his face, punching out of his ears, nose and mouth in rush of leaves and thorns. These vines were thin, wrapping around
her like spider’s web and catching her fast. The smallest tendrils found their way under her armor, and she yelped, feeling them wriggle against her shrinking skin.
He sent out a pulse of power, and the vines grew thicker, crushing buckles and straps, forcing pieces of armor away until they dropped in a heap at her feet. Ivy wove through the material of the under clothing she wore to stop her armor from rubbing, and tightened, tearing the strong cloth away viciously enough to leave bruises.
~
“What is it? What do you fear?” sang the circlet.
“The Green Man” said Ryannon through chattering teeth. “This tastes of the Green Man.”
She drew her sword and mustered the full strength of her magic, while she plunged into the undergrowth, heading for open ground rather than seeking cover in thickets. Never again would she be at that twisted creatures mercy.
As she sprinted for the clearing, the sense of impending danger tripled.
Greenery began to move around her, and half dried leaves, disturbed and knocked from their branches, floated to the ground around her, or fell, whirling and dancing in her wake as she fled past.
Ryannon sensed the tiara taking evasive action, felt the wave of enchantment streaking outwards as it sought to hinder the creature following them. She exploded through the foliage and into a small clearing. The dim light of evening made the clearing gloomy, and she cast her hand up, quickly weaving spells. Light flared into life and returning the small meadow to a semblance of daylight.
She spun around, sword at the ready and teeth bared in a reckless grimace.
Jack in the Green lumbered into view behind her, throwing his branch-like arms up to shield eyes that were used to the gloom of dark groves. His burled and warped face was horrific and Ryannon retched as she remembered his cruel touch.
He was like a dank mossy log come to life. He towered over her, bringing the smell of dense rotting vegetable matter with him. The thorned vines trailing him lashed around like agitated serpents, and, terrified, Ryannon readied herself to fight for her life. Jack glared through twig-like fingers at her pixie lights where they swarmed above, and growled a few distorted words.
