I had seldom encountered the ancient beings of the world. In fact, the only one I had run across who felt this old and dangerous had been the interdimensional assassin Kuveo, whom we had stumbled across on my first case with the Wild Hunt. It unsettled me to know just how many creatures out there could wield the kind of powers we were facing.
The entrance to the cavern was as black as pitch, black as night. We couldn’t even see the floor. There could be a dropoff, or spikes along the floor, or even a polished marble dance floor, for all we knew. Herne motioned for Viktor and me to take hold of his hands.
“In case this is a portal or a vortex, we don’t want to get separated. On the count of three, we step through. The moment we hit solid ground, ready your weapons.” He took a deep breath, and I steeled myself.
Herne counted. One, two…on the third beat, we stepped through.
The world shifted. There was no other way to describe it. It was as though we were standing in one reality for one second, and then we stepped over a line, and everything changed.
It wasn’t the same sort of portal like the one at John Shelton’s house, but it was definitely some type of vortex.
I caught my breath as my foot hit the floor, and I let go of Herne, reaching for my dagger. The next second, everything blazed to light, and we found ourselves standing in a circular meadow, a lea of vibrant grass dotted with wildflowers and surrounded by a grove of oak and blackthorn. The sun felt hot against my skin, yet I could smell the sea on the wind, and my senses told me that the water was near. I looked around quickly, searching for the entrance to the cave behind us, but it was nowhere in sight.
“Be cautious,” Herne said. “We’re in Blackthorn’s territory. Where that is, I’m not sure. I know we’re not in the UK, even though this reminds me of it.”
The magic was so thick, I could practically taste it on my tongue. It swirled around us, like the wake left by some wandering dragon. Hell, I didn’t even know if dragons existed, but the energy was so stifling that I could believe just about anything.
Viktor looked around, shaking his head. “Toto…”
“We’re not in Kansas anymore,” I finished for him.
“Not even close,” he said, flashing me a ghost of a smile.
Herne knelt, examining the grass. He let out a shout and shook his hand, standing abruptly. “Damn it.”
“What?”
“Something bit me. There,” he added, pointing.
Fluttering nearby was what looked like a tiny figure. She was winged, about six inches tall. While the creature was pretty, with petite breasts and a narrow waist, her face was far from human. Two narrow eyes sat above a large oval mouth that was ringed with sharp teeth.
“What is it?” I asked as the figure hovered near. Then she let out a sharp whistle.
“I don’t know, but I’m not sure I want to stick around to find out.” Viktor was edging away.
I was inclined to agree with him. Especially when, in response to its—her—whistle, at least two dozen others just like her rose out of the grass and began to head our way.
“I don’t think they’re the welcome wagon,” I said, backing up.
“Knucklebones! Run!” Herne shouted, bolting toward a particularly large oak.
Viktor and I followed, as the swarm of knucklebones made a beeline for us. Their teeth chattered as they zipped this way and that, darting to try to catch up to us.
Unfortunately, they were good at flying and before we could dive into the thicket of trees, they were on us. One of them managed to catch hold of my upper arm and bit me. His teeth were sharp and scissor-like, and I dove for the ground, rolling over onto him, hoping he would let go. He did, looking dazed, and I wasted no time. I sliced through the air with my blade, bringing it down to stab him through his torso. He let out a shriek as I pinned him to the ground, convulsing once and then, he was still. The next moment, his body vanished as if he had never been there.
Herne turned around, and with a deep breath, shouted, “Stad! Is mise mac Cernunnos!”
The knucklebones froze, slowly lowering themselves to the ground where they knelt in front of him. Herne turned to us. “That should put a stop to their antics.”
“What are they?” I asked. I had never seen anything quite like them, not even among the sub-Fae.
“Knucklebones. They’re also known as nixienacks. When there’s only one or two around, they’re just a nuisance. But in a swarm? They can take down a giant. They’re carnivorous, and they’ll eat their victims alive. Think of them like piranha. One can bite off your finger, a swarm can eat you from the outside in.”
I shuddered. I was discovering all too many delights like this and more, working for the Wild Hunt. “They don’t exist back in our world—my world—do they?”
Herne shook his head. “Not usually. Sometimes they manage to slip over, but most often you find them in other realms, like Annwn.”
“Are they Fae? Or sub-Fae?”
Herne nodded. “Sub-Fae. They tend to gather in forested areas, and they breed in colonies.” He glanced back at the group of them. They were starting to inch away, backing off. He turned and jumped at them, racing forward and yelling. The whole group swirled into the air, like deadly but beautiful butterflies, and then hightailed it back toward the thicket, vanishing before I could blink.
“Well, that takes care of that.” Viktor let out a sigh, shaking his head. “There’s a reason I don’t come over into these realms very often. So, which way should we go?”
Herne eyed the tree line suspiciously. He was watching the blackthorn trees in particular. “It seems like a dangerous proposition to go wading into the middle of the blackthorn bushes, don’t you think?”
I nodded, holding up my wrist. “I’m the proof in the pudding for that. But we can’t just stay here. We don’t even know how to get back to Whidbey Island.”
“Let’s have a look around. There should be another touchstone nearby, and it should have the same glyphs on it.” Herne began to nose around, poking through the grass.
“Will it be on a boulder just like the other?”
“No,” he said. He pointed over toward a large oak. “Why don’t you check over there, Ember? Viktor, skirt the edge of the blackthorn trees if you would. I’ll start hunting around here.”
We poked around, probing through the grass and searching through the undergrowth. After about ten minutes, Viktor gave a little shout.
“I think I found it!”
We hurried over to his side, keeping an eye on the row of trees nearest to us. There was no way in hell we weren’t being watched, that much I knew.
Viktor was standing next to a tree stump, surrounded by tall ferns. Unless you were looking directly at it, the stump would be easy to miss. The top had been hollowed out, and inside sat the exact duplicate of the crystal wheel on the stone back in the forest.
“So, we know where to find the doorway out.” Herne looked around, then cautiously placed his hand on the wheel turning it to the glyphs that symbolized the word “open.” Sure enough, there was a noise behind us, and when we turned, we saw an opening into darkness. “I assume that’s the way back into that cave.”
“All right. We know the way out. Now what?”
“Now, we look for Blackthorn. I’m assuming he keeps a network of spies, so we might as well announce ourselves.” Herne strode away from the tree stump. “I am Herne, son of Cernunnos! I’m here on official business to see the King of Thorns. I demand an audience.”
I looked around, nervous. What kind of response would that would provoke?
We didn’t have to wait long for the answer. A moment later there was a stirring among a group of the blackthorn trees. I placed my hand on my dagger, waiting, and noticed that Herne and Viktor were doing the same.
As we watched, the branches parted. Seven creatures emerged, looking for all the world like a combination of praying mantises and very thin, angular men. Their head
s were oval, almost triangular, and their eyes were wide-set and bulbous. Their skin was a pale green, and their limbs were wispy thin. Their legs bent forward, reminding me of goat legs. They didn’t walk on hooves, however, but on what appeared to be feet enclosed within leather boots. Their uniforms were militaristic, in shades of purple and black with gold trim, and they carried long, razor-sharp blades that glinted in the sunlight.
One stepped forward. “Do not draw your weapons. Follow.”
They turned as a unit and headed back into the thicket without looking back to see if we obeyed. Herne gave us a nod, and we fell in behind. I eyed the trees suspiciously as we approached. My arm ached where the knucklebones had bit me, and my wrist was still stinging. The last thing I wanted to do was face another renegade tree that had it in for me.
But as the odd creatures marched in formation—and they did march—straight toward the patch of thorny trees, the trees gave way, pulling back to create a corridor for us. They behaved themselves, although they creaked and groaned as we passed by, whispering in some ancient language that predated the creatures of the earth. They were aware in a way that I had never before seen. There was an intelligence, a sentience lurking behind those ancient trunks, their thoughts so active that they electrified the air.
The path seemed unending, but eventually the guards in front of us slowed, stepping to the side to form two lines. The one who had spoken to us before gestured toward the corridor formed between their lines.
“Go forward.”
Herne gave them a quick nod, then set forward, with Viktor and me following.
Beyond the guards, the trees thinned out, revealing a clearing. In the middle was a giant mound, formed of woven branches bearing thorns, reminding me of the tale of Sleeping Beauty and how her castle had been overcome by a wall of thorns. Only we weren’t planning on rescuing the person within. Centered against the side of the mound was a large silver door.
“This reminds me of a Faerie Barrow,” Viktor whispered under his breath.
“It is, of a sort.” Herne paused, glancing from side to side. All around the Barrow were vast thickets of brambles and blackthorn trees. They were all in flower, beautiful and brilliant, filling the air with their musky scent.
“Where are the leaves?” There weren’t any leaves on the trees yet, despite the flowers.
“Those will come later after the flowers set and the fruit begins to grow.”
“Is the fruit safe to eat?” I asked.
“Sloe berries are generally used for jam and gin.” Herne coughed and rubbed his nose. The pollen was thick, and the smell was overwhelming. “Let’s get this over with.”
He headed toward the door, and Viktor and I scrambled to keep up. As we neared the edge of the Barrow, I could feel a resonant energy racing through the ground below our feet. It was almost a heartbeat, a slow murmur, that sounded like some ancient giant slumbering deep beneath the ground.
Herne paused as he grabbed hold of the giant silver door handle. He turned back to us, a warning look on his face. “Remember, Blackthorn is crafty, and he’s smart. We are in his realm now, and if you displease him there’s not much I can do to intervene. I could call upon my father, but even that would take some time. I suggest you let me do the talking unless he asks you something specific. And if he does, watch what you say. Think before you speak. And whatever happens, don’t let him rile you. We draw no blades within his palace or we’ll be dead. All of us.” He sounded so somber that I found myself hoping I wouldn’t have to speak up at all.
As he opened the door, I could hear the murmured rush of voices filtering past, as though they had been caught up in a bottle and were now set free.
I leaned close to Herne. “Did you hear that?”
He nodded, tilting his head to the side. “Yes, I don’t know what it is. Be very careful. There’s ancient magic here. Older than me.”
There was no one to greet us, so Herne stepped through the door. Viktor and I followed. It was difficult to see in the darkness, but then a silver light the size of a pebble appeared on the ground in front of us. It bounced a couple times, then flew into the air where it hung for a moment before taking off at a decent pace.
Herne started after it, and I realized that this was our guide. Whether it was a creature or simply some strange form of magic, I could not tell. I tried to keep my senses open, searching for any water elementals or spirits that might be near, but everything felt knotted and twisted. Just when I thought I had pinned the energy down, it would twist again, like a cat playing with a ball of yarn.
I reached out and my hand met a wall. There was a tingle, almost like a snap, and I pulled my fingers away quickly, not wanting to set off any traps.
“I think we’re in a passage,” I said.
“We are, but the way it twists makes me think we’re in some sort of labyrinth.” Herne’s voice echoed back. It was so dark I could barely see him. Only the brilliant silver pebble ahead of us seemed to shine through the darkness, still hovering above us.
It felt like we had been walking forever, but I knew it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes when the pebble stopped. A beam of light radiated from it, illuminating a door straight ahead of us. In that thin beam, I could see the edges of the walls left and right. It seemed we were at the end of the road. I couldn’t see any other passages. Whether we had passed by a side-passage in the darkness, I couldn’t tell.
The door—or rather, doors, as there were two of them—were silver, ornately engraved.
Herne reached out and gripped the handle, pulling the massive door open. From inside, a pale light emanated, blinding us even with its weakness.
A deep voice echoed out. “Enter, son of Cernunnos. And bring your friends with you.” The voice was throaty and strong.
Herne strode in as if he owned the place. The door behind us slammed shut the moment we were through, and I jumped at the noise.
Inside the chamber, the light was weak, but it grew brighter as we stood there. I blinked, trying to shade my eyes while they adjusted.
“Well met, Herne, son of the Hunt. What do you want in my territory? Why did you come to my kingdom?”
The voice was coming from behind the light, and I stepped to the side, trying to see around the brilliant glow. But it began to fade, lowering its intensity even as we stood there.
“Whom do I address? Are you Blackthorn, the King of Thorns?” Herne sounded more belligerent than I’d ever heard him. I wondered if this was some sort of power play.
At that point, the light dimmed enough for us to see, and there, in front of us, stood the King of Thorns. He was taller than I had expected. Tall and muscled, and yet, looking almost as gnarled as some of the trees. He was mesmerizing. He was wearing what reminded me of a Hawaiian malo. The cloth was a deep purple, trimmed with silver. His chest, arms, and legs were bare, his olive skin covered with a network of black work vines that had been tattooed over every inch of his body, including his face. He was carrying a spear that looked to have a silver tip, with long, sharp barbs surrounding the spearhead.
“I am Blackthorn, the King of Thorns. What do you want in my world?”
He squared his shoulders, and I found myself wanting to back away, to put distance between the Ante-Fae and myself. There was something terrifying about him. Perhaps it was the dark green that tinted his eyes, or perhaps it was the way every inch of his body seemed to glow with an inner light that felt fetid and dank. He didn’t feel evil per se, but dangerous and chaotic.
As if he had sensed what I was thinking, he turned to me. I tried to look away, but couldn’t untangle myself from the mesmerizing snare of his gaze.
“And what do we have here? An unholy mixture, perhaps? Do both of your peoples deny you? Do they whisper that you should have never been born? That you are tainted, that you should never have been allowed to live? Tralaeth?” His voice wove over the words like a magical cord, tying them up with tension and pain.
/> “What they think of me is none of my concern.” I trembled, trying to block out the wash of energy flowing around me.
“You just keep telling yourself that when you’re lying in the dark, trying to blot out the images of your parents dead on the floor.” Blackthorn slowly rose from his throne, every move deliberate. He held out his hand, tipping his spear toward Viktor, his fingers wrapped around the hilt.
“And you… Yet another mixed blood. I wonder. Do the humans accept you into their world? Do the ogres allow you free access in their world? Or do they turn you away, a joke to your father, and an abomination to your mother?”
Viktor mumbled, staring at the King of Thorns with smoldering eyes. I reached out to take hold of his arm. Shaking my head, I gave him a warning look and he nodded, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.
“No answer? Ah well, we all know the answers to my questions,” Blackthorn said, returning his gaze to Herne. “And so we come to Herne, the son of Cernunnos. The lord of all things wild and free. You keep strange bedfellows for the son of a god. Is it because you, too, have diluted blood? Your mother was once human, before your father gifted her with immortality. Do you, perhaps, bear all of the weaknesses that she once bore? Or do you hearken after your father, running wild with the hunt? I wonder, how diluted can the world become before it falls apart? Is nothing pure anymore?”
His voice was hypnotic, reeling me in even though I resisted. I found myself leaning toward him and abruptly pulled away as I tried to snap out of it. Before I could move, Blackthorn was by my side.
“The girl feels my magic.” Blackthorn reached out to stroke my cheek with one finger. His nails were spikes, like the spikes of the blackthorn bush, and he trailed one along my skin, not quite breaking the surface. His touch hurt, like a thin burn against my skin, and I shivered as his magic rippled through me. It felt like a snake was slithering around my feet, looking to catch hold of me and trip me up.
“You know me, don’t you?” He bent down to whisper in my ear. “Would you stay in my kingdom if I asked? Would you take your place as one of my toys? I can drench you in magic like you’ve never tasted. I can feel my pulse within you—you’ve tasted pain and you understand the freedom it brings. A river of blood has crested through your life and you long to dive in, to let it sweep you under. You’re one of the waterborne, aren’t you? You smell like lilacs and spring rain.”
Oak & Thorns Page 22
