Wild Hunters
By Billy Wong
Category: Fantasy |
Release:Anguirus (5.5)
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Colin flexed huge shoulders over which he carried a stag in a questioning shrug. He always babied her with regard to physical work, even though she was fairly close in strength to him. “Really? You don’t expect he’ll bring something as utterly unsuitable as the last time?”
Remembering the Prince’s previous gift to her, Rhona pouted. Perfume! As if she’d any need for that. Sure, she stunk, but it fit her. “He might, or not. But I’m looking forward to what I’m going to get him!”
“Oh? And what might that be?”
“A horse!” she said, beaming.
“That would be quite ironic. Hope he doesn’t decide to eat this one too.” He gave her a curious look. “But doesn’t he have access to all kinds of horses already, which would put any in our little hills to shame?”
“Not the one I have in mind! I’m going to get him a special horse from Ailish Isle.”
Colin’s eyes widened. “Have you gone daft, sister? Those horses aren’t meant for the bridles of men. There’s a reason nobody ever steps foot on that island.”
“Not for the bridles of men? Whatever do you mean by that?”
“Well,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, “they’re said to be of the realm of the dead, and mounts for spirits.”
“Horses for dead men?” Rhona scoffed. “Please. I may be young, but I’m not that easy to fool. Don’t forget I pretty much raised myself.” A runaway from home early in childhood, grown to womanhood in the wild, she had only begun learning to be a human again as a teenager.
“Yes, and that’s why you missed learning many of the wisdoms of men. Even Bran believes it.”
Only then did she realize how serious he was. Part of her grew anxious at the warning from her trusted brother, but what trepidation she felt was not enough to overcome her resolve to get the perfect gift. Besides, experience had taught her that most fears were not so dreadful if one was willing to face them. She forced a chuckle. “That superstitious old man? Like he knows anything.”
“Bran’s hardly old. And hasn’t he helped both of us out enough with his knowledge in the past?”
“Common knowledge, sure. But he isn’t so credible a mystic.”
“Common wisdom is sometimes the best kind. Do you really have to do this?”
“Other people’s fears never stopped me before. Don’t count on them to start now.”
Colin sighed and shook his head. “I suppose not all legends need be true. Go, then, if you must—but be careful.”
* * *
Rhona crept through the mist towards the guzzling horse, a bit wary for all her earlier bravado. The river island felt distinctly cooler than the surrounding lands she had passed on the way, cold enough for her hardy body to notice, and that a thick fog seemed oddly confined to the isle made her uneasy. Yet the land was solid enough beneath her, and the horse drinking on the shore appeared equally so. Blades of flattened grass stuck out around its hooves, and water rippled around its muzzle. Something of the dead, she reassured herself, would not be so consistently tangible.
The horse itself was somewhat of a disappointment. Tall and rangy, its build was not handsome by most standards, though it did possess a uniquely prominent lean musculature. That, and the utter blackness of its coat, gave its look an interesting novelty. If nothing else, it did belong to a rare wild breed. Besides, it might have other distinctive qualities, which Rhona just could not see clearly right now. The horse’s outline and features seemed somehow blurred, indistinct, an effect she attributed to the fog.
She threw her lasso, which fell neatly around its neck. Its head turned to meet her gaze, and she saw now that its eyes were red. Momentarily unsettled, she nonetheless braced her feet and pulled when it tried to run out into the water. Not so expected from a horse. Its strength surprised her; though her rope drew tight about the mighty column of its neck, it continued to drag her after it, her boots making furrows in the soil. Changing tactics, she dashed after it into the shallows and leapt upon its back. For seconds she fought to stay mounted while it bucked and heaved, then she froze at something she glimpsed in the water and found herself thrown like a rag doll through the air.
Rolling to her belly, Rhona blinked at the horse and shivered with rare fright. Had she really seen what she thought she had? In her mind’s eye hovered the reflection in the water, of a rotting, half-skeletal equine head crawling with maggots.
But the horse was wheeling now to regard her, and she saw no signs of decay. Damn her imagination, and the irrational ideas Colin had put into her mind! She stood and advanced. Even she could be afraid, but she would not let fear have its way. She, the dauntless warrior, had said she would come back with a horse—and so she would!
The horse snorted and reared high as she closed, and despite making an imposing sight, it presented Rhona with an irresistible opportunity. She darted in, seized its forelegs, and wrenched hard to the side. It crashed down on its flank, whereupon she dove across its neck and threw her arms around it. Gooseflesh rose on her arms at the touch of its cool hide. There must be some reasonable explanation for this… It thrashed in the mud underneath her, but she held on and, shifting her weight with a wrestler’s skill, refused to let it back up.
So close, she stared into its blood-red right eye and struggled to assert her dominance. There was a feral power in that orb, but stillit was not stronger than hers. Mortal or not, its mind was yet an animal’s. After a while it relaxed beneath her, and feeling its submission she released her hold and rose. The horse followed her up and stood waiting.
She had actually done it. She had captured an Ailish horse!
A sudden chill bypassed her clothes to lance straight into her very bones, and she felt a presence behind her which had not been before. She turned slowly, inexplicably dreading what she might see, and gazed upon a colossal bluish-skinned figure in an antlered helm. Unlike the horse it was not vague at all, but terrible in its clarity, its face agaunt, waxen mask of dead flesh around empty pus-filled eye sockets.
“You claimed our horse,” it said in a slow monotone. Its black lips perhaps formed the doorway to an endless dark abyss, for its voice seemed to echo from planets away and eons past. “Now you must join us.”
Join it? Rhona’s blood ran cold in her veins, as this was a walking dead thing and to join it would surely mean becoming the same. She edged away, watching it carefully. “What are you?” she asked, a tremble in her voice she could not help.
“I am of the Wild Hunt. Come, there will be eternity to explain it later.”
Eternity? That did not sound good. But she recalled the name it spoke mentioned around a campfire. “Wild Hunt? I think I’ve heard of you, but what exactly do you hunt for?”
“We are those who should have died, but lived past our times. When we ride, it is to seek out those like ourselves and capture them so as to prevent them from interfering with the workings of Fate.”
A light flashed from the depths of its cavernous eyes, and replayed in it were Rhona’s closest brushes with death. First she saw herself as a small child, whimpering alone in the woods after her ill-considered flight from her family, and then older versions of her, lying writhing or still in blood after various times she had been grievously wounded. She reeled with terror at the newfound insight into just how close she had come and became disturbingly aware of her deep scars, each like the mark of a talon Death had sunk into her body.
“You should have died more than once, Rhona the Wild Axe. Your destiny lies with us.”
But if she had already eluded death many a time, she hardly looked forward to stopping now. And didn’t the appearance of the Wild Hunt tend to foretell some disaster or another? That was not a role she would be eager to accept. Without warning she snatched the axe from her belt and threw. It buried itself full in the dead thing’s breast, and, not waiting to see its reaction, Rhona turned to run. Before she could take a single step, she felt on her shoulder the grip of fingers hard and cold as ice.
Her flesh grew numb at the deathly touch, and the absence of feeling spread quickly down her arm and chest. Desperately she wrenched free and made for the horse, her entire left arm shaking. Maybe its mount could outrun the hunter, if it would obey her. Reaching the steed, she vaulted up, only to be grabbed by the ankle and yanked roughly to the ground. Her foe dragged her back several yards before she kicked free of its grasp. She lurched up and tried to hobble away, one leg numb nearly to the point of uselessness. The creature circled to her front in a blur and punched her, and she dropped.
Rhona groaned where she lay, trying to rub some sensation back into her cheek and jaw. Damn, the thing was fast — too fast, she knew now, for her to escape it. Panic tightened its hold on her mind and soul. Was she really going to die here? It wasn’t fair! It claimed she belonged with it, but she was still young and strong, and had not even tasted love yet. Wasn’t there some way she could preserve her life?
And then, she had it. This was a dead thing, and thus there was Death in its touch, but if that was the case might there not also be Life in hers? Should she, who had so often defied death, not be bursting with its opposite?
She did not know that this was actually true, or even likely so, but if it was not she would try to make it true. The creature could be touched, and, she had to believe, also damaged. If it did not live, its physical shell could still be destroyed. In any case, she would not die without a fight.
She steeled herself and tackled the thing’s legs, taking it down in a moment of surprise, and threw herself atop it. Its closeness numbed her skin and her heart pounded against her ribs, but she gave not an inch. She pulled her axe from its chest and hacked off one of its arms. The other hand came rushing up to envelop her face. She caught it below the wrist and twisted violently, and despite its size its frostbitten flesh proved brittle. With a shriek, she ripped its arm off at the elbow!
Then, she raised her axe and brought it down between the thing’s eyes, splitting its head open to reveal the nest of maggots inside, and it lay still.
Rhona toppled off the defeated corpse, collapsing in a heap as she gasped for breath. Her pulse still hammered in her neck, and her great stamina was entirely exhausted. She had won, but felt no urge to celebrate. Today she had known true fear, perhaps for the first time since her departure from home so long ago, and been reminded what it was like to be a helpless child. Would the Wild Hunt come afterher again? She shuddered, hoping she could find it in her to rise to that challenge. Now she heard a hissing like that of boiling water, and looked to see the Hunter’s body melt away into smoke. A confused neighing drew her gaze back to the horse, and she watched it too dissipate to join its master in oblivion. So she would reap no rewardfrom her trials today, not that she would have still been willing to accept the unnatural steed as such anyway.
She was still on the ground, staring blankly where the creatures had been, when she heard Colin’s voice. “Rhona?” he called from somewhere nearby. “Are you here? Answer me!”
He stepped into view, and Rhona rallied to regain a semblance of composure. Even if she had gotten quite a scare, her pride would not allow her to act weak in front of her big brother. “What are you yelling your lungs out for?” she asked flatly. “I’m just fine. Though, Ailish horses do turn out to be rather hard to keep… so, do you know anywhere else we can go to find a new type of horse for the Prince to ride or eat?”
Billy Wong is an avid fan of heroic fantasy, with a special love for hardcore warriors. His fiction has appeared in many venues including Afterburn SF, Sorcerous Signals, and The Written Word. A full list of his published works can be found here at http://www.absolutewrite.com/forums/showthread.php?t=58445
