For a second, he thought his heart might stop.
The Wild Hunt.
They had been in those stories that Aoife O’Credne told all those years ago when he was still a boy, on those dark and fire-lit nights and the long winter days when he and his sister could do little but tuck in and listen. There had been thousands of them, drawn from the fabric of centuries of life and even more of legends and tales she’d heard secondhand, passed along. They were the stories that Grey Miller had memorized, had written down, so that he could pass them along to his son after Aoife left. He didn’t think that Grey had forgotten a single one, either.
Like he knew. Like he knew she was never going to stay.
It was one thing to go off chasing stories and legends because David had seen something. But now, sitting here, confronted with the Wild Hunt, all the moisture from his mouth dried up and something inside of him coiled up, shrank back—a primal fear, a soul-deep warning.
“I think he’s heard of us,” Miriam quipped. “Look at his face.”
“Don’t be that way, Miriam,” Bastien said, his mirth fading. “He looks fit to run back out into that storm and I’m the first to tell you, boy, that’d be ill-advised.”
“I take it you’ve heard the stories,” Caleb said, his voice still gentle. “I won’t tell you that they’re not true, but they’re certainly a product of another time—another age. And not all of it’s true. There’s quite a bit of exaggeration in some.”
“And not enough in others,” Jakob observed, pouring another mug of tea, his manner relaxed, casual, but not lacking…something. It wasn’t predatory, nothing like that, but…
A readiness. An alertness. Bryant’s fingers tightened around the enameled metal of his mug, eyes fluttering shut for a few seconds as he tried to find his center, find calm.
Breathe. Just—just breathe.
“But the stories—” he started, then stopped, his heart stumbling over itself. “—the stories always said that you were doomed to keep riding, always hunting. And—and I thought you’d faded from the world. That you were gone.”
“The Hunt never truly goes away,” Miriam said. “Either a gift or a curse, that. With everything in the last couple decades, the rules have gotten more flexible, though, if they ever really were rules at all.”
“Rules, spellcraft, who knows,” Ariel rumbled from where she was still dressing the deer. She held a haunch out toward the fire pit and Bastien heaved himself up, moving over to take it from her and mount it on a spit Bryant hadn’t noticed. “It all got strange when the Otherworlds started cracking open and spilling back into the world. One wonders if the folk who spilled out are trapped here now, or not.”
“Or if those Otherworlds still exist,” Caleb said, his voice almost too quiet to hear. For a second, his gaze flicked toward the barracks, then off toward the rest of the village. “If all we’ve learned over these years is to be believed, they may well not.”
“Well that’s a cheerful thought that I’m not nearly drunk enough to consider,” Miriam said. “Is that the current theory, then?”
“Something that’s been batted about, anyway,” Caleb said, then shook his head. “Not our business until someone makes it our business.”
“And that hasn’t happened yet,” Bastien said, starting to season the haunch. Bryant recognized the salt he sprinkled on it, but nothing else from the tins open on bricks of the fire pit. “And may not be anything we ever quite need to know. The watch continues, the ride eases. Did you hear what Gilad came back to report?”
“Anselm’s already planning on sending out another group,” Jakob said. “See if they can pick anything up.”
Bryant’s gaze bounced between them, his brow furrowing. “I—”
“Probably nothing for you to worry about,” Miriam said, though the troubled look that crossed into her expression suggested that she was reconsidering the words even as they left her mouth. “Just an increase in raiding.”
“That we haven’t seen in more than a few years,” Bastien muttered, glancing at Caleb.
The scarred man sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “It could be something—or nothing.” He turned a reassuring smile on Bryant. “Could be bad luck.”
“Yeah,” Bryant said with a faintly furrowed brow. “Guess so. We saw some on the roads on our way here.”
“Is that how your friend got hurt?” Ariel asked. At the silence and the stares of her companions, her brow furrowed and she paused in her butchery. “What? I heard everything from Paul when we were down in the ravines this morning. He was on watch.”
For a second, Bryant’s voice lodged in his throat, the images—the memories—flickering through his head. “No,” he managed. “No, not unless raiders are big, coal-black things with wings and claws and glowing red eyes.”
The group of Huntsmen went silent, exchanging looks. It was Jakob that spoke, his voice quiet. “Camazotzi.”
“Like Thom and Marin’s boy,” Bastien said, his gaze settling on Caleb. “Think Anselm knows?”
“Probably,” Caleb murmured.
Bryant picked up on the subtle shift to their mood and slowly set down his mug. “I—I’m sorry if this comes off as rude, but this clearly means something to all of you that I’m missing.”
Bastien mustered a smile and shook his head. “Not anything for you to worry about yet, lad. Maybe not even anything for us to worry about yet.”
But there was something in all of their expressions—especially Caleb’s, especially Miriam’s—that said something different. It said something had changed and it wasn’t good.
As he reached to pick up his mug again, Bryant decided he wasn’t sure he actually wanted to know.
Rain drummed on the roof and thunder rolled in the distance and David Miller was more than a little glad to be tucked into a soft, warm bed under a sturdy roof, safe from the weather. The sound and the warmth coupled with whatever the healer—his aunt by marriage, no less—had given him should have easily lulled him to sleep. Instead, he drifted, still more awake than asleep, keenly aware of the tension that knotted the frame of the woman who sat on his bed, her knees drawn to her chest and her gaze settled squarely on him.
“You should get some sleep, Issy,” he murmured, opening one eye to watch her. She’d turned the lamps down when the others had ventured out even despite the gathering storm, none of them seeming keen on being cooped up for the duration. They’d made it at least a few hours before curiosity and perhaps a touch of cabin fever got the best of them. Given the lack of clothes hanging everywhere, perhaps some of them had gone to do laundry in addition to exploring the relative safety of their current surroundings.
“I can’t,” she whispered, hugging her knees a little tighter, studying his face in the dim. “If I go to sleep, no one’s keeping an eye on you.”
“I’ll be all right,” he said, opening the other eye. “I’m not going to try to go anywhere, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“It’s not,” she said, though perhaps the answer came a little too quickly. “Just—go to sleep, David.”
“Did you sleep when we got here?” he asked. “Last night, did you sleep?”
“Not much,” she said. “Not well. I was worried.”
“About me.”
She nodded, resting her chin on her knees. “But it’s not just that. I—all of it still feels like some kind of nightmare. Every time I close my eyes for more than a few seconds, I start seeing it again. I start hearing them and hearing you. Those things—they wanted you dead.”
“But I’m not.” He shifted with a slight wince, making space for her next to him and starting to lift the blankets with an aching arm connected to equally aching ribs. “Issy, please. Just lay down.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispered, tears sparkling against her lashes. “David.”
“Just lay down,” he said again. “Come on. It’s okay.”
She swallowed hard, shaking her head slowly even as she unfolded, crawling carefully toward the covers he held up for her. “How can you sound so sure?”
“Just am,” he said, letting the blankets fall as she settled beside him, her weight and warmth an added layer of comfort. “Let’s be honest, I’ve had a lot of practice at least sounding like I’m sure about things.”
He felt more than heard her quiet chuckle as she carefully, tentatively nestled herself against his side. His hand found hers beneath the covers, their fingers tangling together.
“I guess you do,” she whispered. “That other boy—”
“Lin,” he said. “Are you about to say we should compare notes?”
“Maybe,” she said. “Once you’re both up to it.”
“Or at least when we’re both stuck in proximity to each other,” David said, resting his cheek against her head as she nestled her head against his neck. “We’ll see what happens. I’m thinking that we’ll have time one way or another.”
“Can we stay here long enough to let you heal?” She asked in a bare whisper. For a second, her fingers were painfully tight around his. “Will there be time for that, too?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe. There’s a lot of maybe right now.” He stared at the ceiling, watching the shadows flicker and dance with the lamp’s flame. Lightning lit the world beyond the curtains, bright enough to shine through for an instant before it faded. The boom rattled the walls, the windows in their casements. Isabelle nestled closer, the fingers of her free hand cold against his ribs.
“I hope so.” A pause. “I’m glad we’re not out there in that.”
“Me too,” he said. “But there’s going to be a lot—”
“I know,” she said, her voice fading. “We all know, David. But for now, why don’t we…”
She didn’t finish the thought. Her breath was quiet, even. He smiled, his thumb brushing over hers where he held her hand over his stomach.
“Sweet dreams, Issy,” he whispered as he closed his eyes.
Maybe now that she was asleep, now he could rest, too.
