She stared at him for a moment, then said gruffly, “Nothing is ever as simple as we think it is.” Then she turned her back on all of us and busied herself with the magical diagram she was drawing.
Amber, still hugging the Horn, asked, “Now what?”
Cat gave the Fiddler a long, cool look, then said, “The Horn goes in Jen’s circle. So do Yejun and I. The rest of you—”
There was a crash from far below and the entire building shuddered. Cat kept his balance perfectly and continued calmly, “The rest of you could help out by keeping the Wild Hunt away from us, however you can. This isn’t a long ritual, but it’s not instant, either.”
I ran across the roof and peered over the edge. A figure stood at the corner of the building. As I watched, he drew his fist back, then punched again. Once again, the whole building shuddered. I eyed the drop, then shook my head and ran back to the roof entrance. Marley caught my arm and shook her head. “Don’t go down there.”
“Fighting on rooftops is bad, especially when they’re willing to bring the whole building down.”
Marley gave me a little smile. “I’ll keep the building upright, at least for a little while.”
I gaped at her, then said, “Right. You do that. That would be great.” There was another crash below, but the building didn’t even vibrate this time, and an angry roar rose from the base of the building.
Over at the circle, Amber was reluctantly giving up her burden. “Tia said—she told me there was a way I could—” she began, then fell silent, pushing the Horn into Yejun’s arms. “Do what you have to. Make sure everybody else gets the chance I gave up.”
Branwyn had an iron grip on both Brynn’s hand and her hammer. I went over to them. “Brynn, quick, before we face off against demigods, can you please tell me what you meant about saving me?”
Brynn gave me a nervous look, which she then transferred to Branwyn, and then the sky. “Branwyn talked about you to Marley and I overheard. About how they needed to figure out a way to save you. Later, Tia told me about you, too. When I was interested, she told me I could save you myself, if I could just make friends with you. I thought it would be cool to... to be like a prince, rescuing a damsel in distress from a monster. I thought it was like a fairy tale, except I could be the hero.”
I stared at Brynn, at this little fourteen-year-old girl, who thought she could rescue me from a monster just by being my friend, and then I thought about Tia, who had told her that. I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to laugh or cry, hug Brynn or push her away.
Branwyn, however, facepalmed while still holding Brynn’s hand. “I need to buy Mom and Grandma ‘Thank You For Putting Up With Me When I Was Fourteen’ cards,” she muttered.
“And now things are all awkward,” said Brynn earnestly. “I knew they would be. If you hate me now, I understand. I pretty much lied to you.”
There was another roar from over the side of the building, but it was a lot closer and a lot louder.
“Brynn—”
Amber shouted, “Hey, AT? Could use your help over here.”
“Brynn, you’re kind of short for a knight in shining armor, but you make a pretty good friend.” I reached out, squeezed her free hand. “Thanks. Gotta go.”
As I turned away, Branwyn said, “Speaking of bad ideas, why exactly are you covered in tattoos of pretty, pretty ponies, Brynn?” But I didn’t stay to hear her answer. When I skidded to a halt beside Amber, she was peering over the edge of the building with a grace and confidence I envied. “Three of them. Two over here, one on that side.” She pointed.
“Okay,” I said. “They reach the top, we kick them off. Easy peasy.”
She gave me a dubious look, and then one of the Wild Huntsmen came over the edge. It was one of the ones I didn’t know the name of, and he roared like a minotaur as he grabbed at Amber. She pulled her legs in as he yanked her toward him, then planted her feet on his chest and used the momentum to spin both of them around. Then she lunged toward him, all wide-hungry eyes and shining fangs and he recoiled, letting go of her. I stuck out my foot as he stumbled backward, and he tripped over it and vanished over the side.
“Easy peasy,” I repeated, smiling at Amber as she glared over the edge.
“He didn’t fall all the way down,” she said flatly. “And now he’s climbing up again. AT, they outnumber us, and they’re not even all here.”
I shrugged. Worrying about that was just going to slow me down and the next target was rising over the edge of the roof. I lunged at him, bringing my shadow claws around to bite into his groin. One of them got stuck in his formalwear. He jolted backward and I twisted, then kicked him hard enough that he teetered and fell off the building. “Keep an eye on them,” I told Amber, as she peered over the edge. “I’ll be right back.”
Then I dashed to the next side of the roof, barreling into the figure pulling himself over the edge. It didn’t work out; he was big and I was not. He caught me and went to throw me over the side, but I clung to him. Maybe we’d both fall. Probably neither of us would hit the ground.
But he staggered away instead. As the odds that I’d be able to throw him overboard decreased, I changed my plan. My shadow lengthened, pricked ears, bared teeth. I snapped my teeth at him as I clung to his arm and my shadow lunged, tearing open the flesh of his thighs.
He stopped staggering. “I will crush you,” he whispered, and contorted so he held me close. My shadow and I snapped at him again, digging claws into his flesh. But his wounds closed up almost as fast as I could make them, and he was squeezing me so hard—
—I could change, I’d get bigger—
But there were too many people here, I didn’t trust myself. I missed my dogs.
I couldn’t breathe.
The red mist drifted in front of my eyes. Then, suddenly, the pressure vanished and he collapsed to his knees. Branwyn stood on the other side of him, her hammer in both hands. She’d hit him right in the center of his back. He flung his hand out and a blade dripping ice appeared in it, darting toward Branwyn. But my shadow and I were faster; we tore the muscle of that arm to the bone and his hand flopped sideways, the sword vanishing again. He goggled at it; then the pain set in and he contorted in agony from both the back hit and the wound.
“Take a minute, catch your breath,” Branwyn suggested calmly, as if an ice blade hadn’t almost struck her. “Then roll him off the edge before he gets up again.” She nodded to me and went toward Amber, Brynn following at her heels.
I dragged in a single breath, enough time to notice Yejun standing in the circle with his hands spread wide while Cat crouched before the Horn with that strange knife in his hand. Jen stood to one side, her hands moving dance-like. Yejun shouted, “The Horn is fighting back, I’m not sure I can hold it.”
Without thinking, I shouted back, “You stole the moon and saved Amber. You can do anything.” Then I turned and started rolling the contorted Huntsman off the roof. As he dropped over the edge, his back arched and his hand lashed out. I jumped back just in time, and my shadow lunged forward to tear at him again, one bite more to slow him down.
The Fiddler started to play a quiet violin tune. It underlay the sound of the wind and the roar and crash of our enemies, as simple and omnipresent as breathing. Yejun cried, “All right, now!”
I held my breath, wondering if it was about to all be over. But whatever they were doing, it wasn’t that fast. Amber shrieked in rage, and I had to look away from the ritual.
She backed away from the edge as the two Huntsmen both came over the side together. I ran toward her. But I’d only taken a few steps when something came over the third side of the building. It wasn’t a Huntsman this time. It was my dogs, red-eyed and raging. My dogs, coming for me.
-twenty six-
Nod and Heart and Grim: my dogs, my best friends. Even red-eyed and snarling like hellhounds, I would always know them inside and out. I froze, then ran toward them, leaving Amber to deal with her two Huntsmen. She and Branwyn could handle
them. I needed to deal with my dogs before they tore my people to pieces.
I placed myself squarely between them and the rest of the group. I whistled, clear and sharp, and it did the job of attracting their attention. I had to put them down, for everybody’s sake. I had to kill them, or do whatever I could to hold them down until the ritual finished and ended them a different way.
But I thought of how Brynn had stolen the horses away and I couldn’t resist trying one more time to reclaim my dogs, even as they surged toward me.
Behind me, Marley said, “This isn’t right. Those are her dogs, why are they attacking her?”
My shadow flattened its ears and lunged forward, knocking Heart off her feet and back into the other two. I took a deep breath, trying to find the inner peace that I’d used when I’d saved the dogs in their mortal forms, long ago.
Jen said sharply, “Yejun, focus! You can’t go to her or we’ll lose everything!”
Nod leapt, clipping me on my shoulder, but I caught him on his ribcage and forced him back again. “Sit down,” I bellowed. They didn’t listen.
Brynn sobbed. “I can’t reach them. They’re wrong. I’m so sorry, AT.”
Grim gathered himself, watching me with those crimson eyes. He’d been such a gentle, playful puppy. He’d grown up in my shadow. He was my baby, my twin, my first dog. He’d turned into a monster, just like my father wanted me to turn into a monster.
Baby, you aren’t like him. You’re my baby girl, sweet and good and kind. That’s why you run away, okay? You run away and you live.
Tears stung my eyes. My mother had done her best to save me: because she loved me, and because I was hers. Her best hadn’t been perfect, it had put me onto the hard road, but she loved me. I was still me. I wasn’t crimson-eyed and maddened with hate, with nothing but spikes of pain in my mind. She’d built a wall around my self, with books and songs and love and the spikes came through the wall, oh yes, I had to contort myself to avoid them, but the very existence of the wall she’d built was itself salvation. Being me hurt, but I was me. Love mattered, sometimes.
But it didn’t matter here.
“I wish I could have saved you,” I whispered. Then my shadow spread out and around into a pool of darkling radiance. Fingers reached up to each of my poor dogs, wrapping around their throats. Leashing them, muzzling them. I knew them better than any monster could. I’d put my self into them and I knew how to take them apart again.
I was wrong. Love did matter here. It was the only way I had the strength to do what needed to be done.
The Fiddler’s music stopped. “Wait!” he cried.
I held the dogs down, although they fought, while I looked around.
“There’s something you should know,” said a different voice, low but carrying. It was Alastor, rising up from below my eye level, in his grubby suit, with his hands in his pockets and one ankle crossed over the other as his great black eagle’s wings flapped slowly.
I shook my head and looked over at the Fiddler. He was looking back at me, but as soon as our eyes met, he mouthed, “Wait,” again, then started playing the same song as before.
Amber stood where she’d been knocking Huntsmen off the building, breathing hard. Branwyn stood beside her, but her eyes were on Brynn, who was right behind me.
Brynn wiped her face and said, “The elevator.”
The door to the staircase opened. Ion and Ipa strolled out together, as if they were out for an airing. I ground my teeth; I could hold the dogs, but I couldn’t do anything else while I was doing that. Were we just going to be outnumbered, as simple as that?
Ion passed a sardonic eye over our crew, then said, “We will kill everybody here if you finish the magic you’re working. It won’t destroy us, you understand. It will just unbind us. Just as the fellow with the knife does, we will have our own independent existences.” He gave me a cruel smile. “Except for the dogs, of course. They are far too new yet to survive. But we will have plenty of time to enjoy killing you.”
Ipa picked up the thread of the speech. “Yet there is an alternative. Surrender the Horn and we shall discuss limiting our activities to the most appropriate targets. My companion is less interested in this, but I can bring him to an agreement.” While Ion leaned back against the staircase door, Ipa stood erect and attentive.
I looked frantically at the others, then at hovering Alastor. If he switched sides, gave up on his corrupted child, maybe we could survive. What had he wanted to tell me?
“Cat,” said Jen urgently. “You’ve stopped. Why have you stopped?”
Cat didn’t answer. He stood over the Horn, his knife held in both hands, a picture of hesitation. “I’m doing this so you’ll live,” he said softly.
“I don’t care!” she said sharply. “I died when Sen did. I just want to do this and move on. Please, Cat.”
Alastor sighed, clearly irritated, but the Fiddler’s song changed, becoming something sweet and sad.
“Put the knife down,” suggested Ion. Then he started whistling, a different tune than the Fiddler’s. It was a jarring, horrible mash-up and the dogs surged against my shadow leashes. They wanted to fall on whatever they could: me, Ion, Cat, anybody, and tear us apart.
“Cat,” whispered Jen.
He shook his head, as if rejecting something, and slid his knife along the edge of the Horn.
“Thank God,” said Yejun explosively. He dropped his hands as if releasing dozens of leashes all at once. And then I stopped paying attention to anything else.
The dogs snapped free of the Horn. For a moment, they were nothing more than unbound, barely structured information, ready to scatter in the sunlight into nothingness. But they weren’t in the sunlight. They were in my shadow, bound by my power, and when the Horn’s spiked chain shattered, I was holding them.
All three of them vanished, all at once, pulled back into my shadow, pulled back into their own minds again. I shouted in joy and hugged myself, holding them close, my Nod, my Heart, my Grim.
But there was something wrong. It was something odd. It felt so strange and it had something to do with my dogs. Something tickled. My shadow tickled. It felt full.
I didn’t care, I had them back again. But it seemed like a good idea to bring them out as they were meant to be and let them recover in the open air. So I flung my arms wide and they burst out of my shadow, dogs rather than hellhounds, friends, companions, beloved.
They looked around, bewildered, wary, and then all at once, all three of them sneezed, and sneezed again. A mist sprayed out and coalesced into a ghostly form. It was a woman, with dark skin and wings the color of old roses wrapped around her body. Her wings unfolded and pale marks moved under her skin, the mirror of Brynn’s dark marks.
“Well,” said Tia. “That could have been more dignified.” She gestured sharply and the tiny dark marks on Brynn shot off of her, leaving only the framing lines and the stylized horses. Each of the tiny marks unfolded dozens of times into the silhouette of a person: big and small, male and female, child and adult, until the roof thronged with barely visible ghosts. The chill was incredible and my dogs huddled around me, just as they always had before. As one, the ghosts turned to where Ion and Ipa stood.
“We save who we can, as we can,” said Tia lightly, and then, to the ghosts, “My friends. They can’t hurt you now. But can you hurt them?”
The door slammed open as neither Huntsman stuck around to find out if the ghosts could damage them. It was scary to be cut off from something you’d always had strengthening you. I knew. I knew, but I didn’t sympathize at all.
Tia smiled and looked at Alastor, who hadn’t moved save for the lazy flapping of his oversized wings. He sighed. “You meddle too much, Tia.”
“What did you do?” Brynn demanded. “Why do you look like that?”
Tia looked down at herself, smoothing a dress into existence over her form. She still looked insubstantial and she was still speckled with the pale characters. “I used the dogs as a channel to g
et into the Horn and you as an anchor to the world. Then I did my best to redirect as much as I could of each ghost that came after me to you.” She shook her head. “That Horn is very powerful, though. I don’t seem to be quite what I was, do I?”
Before Brynn could answer, Yejun said, “Oh no, what’s going on now?” The air distorted around the Horn, so that it seemed to change sides. Strange noises emerged from the bell and the mouthpiece. The distortion spread as the Horn bucked and Yejun backed away.
The Fiddler leapt lightly inside the circle and put a hand on the Horn. It stilled under his touch, but resentfully, as if ready to burst into world-jarring throbbing at any excuse. The Fiddler said, “Come now. You’ve grown up very fine, but this doesn’t suit you anymore. We can do better.” He reached his other hand inside the wide bell of the horn and pulled something invisible out.
Invisible, but noisy. It was a harsh, jarring piece of music. My dogs whined and covered their ears and I did the same. It was a headache incarnate, and if it didn’t stop soon, I’d be cutting my own ears off just for a chance of relief.
Nobody else liked it very much either. “Shh,” said the Fiddler, and pulled a miniature trumpet out of his coat pocket. He tipped the song in his hand into the trumpet, and silence fell.
The Horn still glinted angrily, but it had lost the malignant shimmer that had bothered me since I’d first seen it. The Fiddler picked it up and handed it to Jen. “You know what has to happen next.”
She looked at him uncertainly. “Sen said...” Then she shook her head. “Not me. This isn’t for me to do.”
Alastor said quietly, speaking directly to me, “Haven’t you ever wondered about what would happen after the Wild Hunt was cut away? The world is accustomed to a Hunt. It will birth a new one in the pattern of the old, unless the void is filled, just as it would if your father was destroyed.”
Wolf Interval (Senyaza Series Book 3) Page 26
