Spirit Read online

  “So I decided to take your advice.” I reached to scratch Balor behind his ears.

  “I gave no advice,” Gwyn cut in.

  “Yeah, whatever,” I said, refusing to argue about semantics. “Anyway, I’m going to try to find the edge of the Outlands.” He made an ugly noise, scoffing at the very idea of me doing the seemingly impossible. “I realized though you didn’t tell me how to actually find the edge.”

  “How about that,” he said. He looked off into the distance, his brow furrowing as if he were trying to see farther than his eyes would allow.

  “Any chance you could tell me?” I pressed.

  “There is always a chance,” he replied.

  “Gwyn, please tell me how to get to the edge,” I said, picking my words deliberately.

  “The pixie girl is learning the game,” he said before letting out another of those ear piercing whistles. The hunting party gathered, horses whinnying and voices falling to better hear their leader.

  “Fine, just don’t abandon me, not yet.” I reached out a hand to stop him, but the horse danced out of my reach. “Can I ride with you for now?”

  Gwyn cocked a silvery eyebrow at me, his lips pursed as he stared down at me. I knew I was taking a risk, but until I knew how to work the magic of this world, I didn’t have much choice.

  “Very well, find a horse,” Gwyn said before he set his heels into his horse and started off. The herd around me became a rising tide as they followed in a thunder of hooves and paws. Balor barked at me and whined, staring up at me with wide, red eyes.

  “It’s okay, boy,” I said, touching his head again. “Just go.” He hesitated for another moment until we heard Gwyn’s whistle. Balor turned and hurried to catch up. I ran in the opposite direction, looking for a rider-less horse. At the back of the pack, I found a string of horses led by the gremlin who gave me food the night before. He nodded when I asked to take one of the horses, but that was all the help I got.

  I had to untie the horse myself, pull it to the side, and mount it all on my own. I was just grateful for the worn and tattered saddle already strapped to it. Though it provided very little comfort, I figured it was much better than riding bareback. I needed more than a couple of tries to haul myself up. The horse was much taller than any of the ponies I’d ridden at the county fair. By the time I was up and situated, the herd was almost out of sight, going over the rise of hills. I spurred the horse forward, getting it into a reluctant trot, but it refused to gallop. I gasped in surprise, feeling myself wobble when the horse lurched forward. Heat rushed to my face when I realized the horse had hardly moved a foot. I was going to suck at this horse-riding thing. I clung to the reins, but they provided no stability. I tugged back on them too hard and the horse came to a stop, huffing and shaking his head.

  “Crap,” I whispered and clicked my tongue to get him walking again. I bit down on my lip. I was terrified if the herd left my line of sight, then they would magically disappear, leaving this area just as they had left the forest. Riding the horse was more than a little awkward since I hadn’t really ever ridden a horse, except for the occasional petting zoo merry-go-round rides. I tried not to think about that though. I just gripped the saddle hard enough to make my legs tremble as I clung to the reins, convinced they weren’t enough to keep me safely up there. Every moment, I was sure I would fall right off and be trampled underfoot.

  I nudged the horse on with my heels. I tried to hit it with the ends of the reins, but I was terrified I would anger it, so mostly I just swung the ends of the reins around. Finally the horse started to go a little faster, giving me some hope I would catch them. Once over the crest of the hill, I saw the Hunt charging downhill. As I watched, the leaders began to fade from sight, as if they were being swallowed by darkness.

  “Crap!” I yelled, and I reached back and smacked the horse on its rear, willing it to run. The horse reared up on his back legs and screamed, nearly throwing me. Only my fingers clutching its tangled mane kept me in the saddle. With a burst of speed, he took off like a shot, racing down the hillside, whipping my hair back, bringing tears to my eyes as the air stung my face.

  My horse caught up with the last wagon, his hooves pounding against the ground by the rear wheel, just as the driver disappeared along with the rest. I held my breath, praying I was close enough. This time I kept my eyes open, watching the air shimmer. The snout of my horse disappeared from sight, but a moment later, I was through, charging behind the herd. I finally released the breath I had been holding, feeling relief rush over me, nearly knocking me from my saddle.

  I passed the wagon and the bat-winged driver and came up alongside the other riders, though none of them paid me much attention. I felt a little more comfortable on my horse, galloping along at a steady pace. The sound of hooves on the packed earth was almost mesmerizing, so I took a chance to look around at our new surroundings.

  We were racing through a gorge between two vast mountains easily five times larger than the hills we had camped by. Grey rocks sprouted out of the sides of the mountains, covered by green moss. The very peaks of the mountains were capped in melting snow, trickles of water making thin rivulets in the ground.

  The goblins, dwarves, and other Fae creatures bent forward over their horses, urging them on, eager smiles lighting their faces as their hands and claws gripped their reins. I turned my attention back to my own horse and leaned forward, putting my face close to its neck. I could smell the musk of the horse and the cut earth underfoot. I let go of the reins and grabbed handfuls of the horse’s mane. The rhythmic gallop rolled through my body and the air rushed around me, whipping my hair into a tangled frenzy. I began to smile.

  My horse sped up almost imperceptibly, as if he could feel my sudden acceptance. We passed one group and then another until we were among the dogs and beasts too large to ride horseback, including the giant Redcap who ran along on all fours, much like the red-eared dogs.

  One of the dogs barked loudly on my left, pulling my attention away from the bloody cap. Balor loped alongside me. His red mouth was open, letting his long tongue flail out of the side of his mouth and making him look like he was grinning when he craned his head back to look up at me. I laughed for the first time since before I died. Reaching down, I brushed the tips of his red ears with my fingers. Balor lifted his head again to nip gently at my hand before he darted forward, following his pack.

  Suddenly a horn was blown from somewhere at the head of the hunting party. I glanced up to see a small man running, veering up the side of the mountain, trying to evade the Hunt. Over the thunder of the paws and hooves and claws pounding on the ground, I could hear him screaming, begging for mercy, slowing as the slope of the mountain became too steep. The small brown hat he wore flew off his head, catching a current of air and sailing over the herd of the Hunt. One of the three goblins that had teased me caught the hat with his pointy fingers and cried out in triumph as if he had caught the catch of the day. The man fell to all fours, clawing at the ground until he finally fell face down and slid back a few yards.

  He rolled onto his back and screamed when he saw the Hunt bearing down on him. He tried to crabwalk backward, but the loose dirt under his hands and feet made him slide back two feet for every foot he gained. The hounds were howling and the horses were screaming. The riders yelled and cheered, their arrows knocked and bowstrings pulled. Swords and spears were gripped as they rode, every face drawn in excitement and joy. Exhilaration crackled in the air. It was heady and tempting. I leaned over the back of my horse, my face close to his neck and my fingers gripping the mane eagerly, as we sped up, coming closer and closer to the fallen man.

  He screamed again, inconsequential pleas for mercy falling from his mouth. Finally, he dove to the side and rolled down the side of the mountain, rocks and pebbles tearing at his skin, jacket, and trousers as he tumbled out of reach. Like a flock of birds changing direction, the Hunt crested up the mountainside, veering to the left and arcing back around. They came down the sl
ope, expertly dodging the same rocks and pebbles that had tripped him up. The air rushed around me, flavored with the hollers and whistles of my fellow riders, until I finally lifted my head and cried out with them when the first of the riders came down upon the trapped man. He screamed again, but the sound was swallowed by the thundering hooves and braying dogs.

  The Hunt rushed on, and I couldn’t help but look for the man as I passed over the last spot I had seen him. But the place was empty, and the man was gone. Not one arrow or spear littered the ground. The raised weapons I had noted were all put away, swords in their scabbards, arrows in their quivers. Only the spears remained in hand, out of convenience, but lowered, hanging parallel to the horses’ backs.

  With a furrowed brow, I shook my head harshly, shaking off the intoxication of the ride, trying to shake the echoes of the voices out of my mind. I sat up straight in my saddle and took the reins again, dropping the tangled locks of my ride’s mane. My fingers tingled painfully from gripping the horse’s mane, and my legs and arms shook from the effort of clinging to its back during the frantic ride. I wondered how I hadn’t noticed my muscles fatiguing while we rode, but I imagined it was part of the magic of the Hunt.

  “Enjoyed that, did we?” a familiar voice asked. Gwyn had circled back and snuck up on me. He sat much taller in his saddle than I did, and his overlong locks drifted behind him. His horse was two hands taller than any other horse, putting Gwyn even higher than anyone else.

  “What happened to the man?” I asked, ignoring his question.

  “He is there,” Gwyn answered with a lazy wave of his hand. I turned to look where he indicated and saw the man on horseback, his jacket and trousers still tattered. The goblin that had caught his hat now wore it and rode next to him, talking with a large grin that showed his pointy teeth. They were too far away from me to hear what was being said, but the man looked a little green in the face, and his eyes were dark with sorrow as he looked resolutely forward.

  “So what? You hunted him down only to make him part of the Hunt?” I asked, turning back to Gwyn.

  “That is how it has always been and how it will always be.” Gwyn swayed naturally in his seat, his body moving with the cant of his mount.

  I was unable to keep from glancing in his direction. “What did he do?”

  “He did what he did,” Gwyn said, not answering me at all. I bit my tongue, holding back the sarcastic comment I wanted to say but would do me no good.

  “So,” I said, blowing out a breath, “he’s just part of the Hunt now that you caught him?” Gwyn nodded slightly, the motion almost lost in the sway of his body. “But I’m not part of the Hunt.”

  “You weren’t being hunted.”

  “Right, but you still found me,” I pressed.

  “Would you like to be part of the Hunt?” Gwyn asked, finally turning his head toward me, his eyebrows lifted, wrinkling his pale brow.

  “No,” I said quickly, “I just don’t want to get caught in some damn faerie trap because I didn’t understand something.”

  “Hmph.” Gwyn nodded, turning his face away from me.

  “Did someone call the Slaugh down on him?” I lifted my chin in the man’s direction, but Gwyn just ignored my question. Maybe having the Slaugh invoked on you was a personal matter, something inappropriate for someone else to talk about.

  One of the goblins had jumped from their mount and onto the man’s shoulders, tugging at his hair and chattering away in his foreign language to the other goblins who were laughing hysterically. As I watched, tears leaked out of the man’s eyes, sliding down to splash on the lapels of his jacket. His mouth was pressed into a hard, thin line, refusing to give voice to the sobs he so clearly wanted to release. I had no idea what he may have done, but it hurt something inside of me to see another human there, now trapped forever, possibly for one stupid mistake.

  “Remember what I said to you, Shay,” Gwyn said, pulling me out of my thoughts.

  I turned to look at him, trying to figure out what he was talking about. “What you said to me?”

  “If you wish to escape the Outlands, you must do so before you become part of the Hunt,” he said, leaning slightly in my direction as if to underscore his words.

  “Right, I know,” I said, feeling the confusion pinch my face, but he just shook his head at me before putting his heels to his horse and taking off ahead of everyone again. I was left staring after him.

  ***

  After a while, we finally broke for camp again. I slid clumsily off of my horse, landing first on my feet, but falling back on my ass in a cloud of dust. I coughed and waved the dust away from my face. I pushed up to my feet, slower than normal, feeling the sting in my rear from the long ride and the subsequent fall. My legs were stiff and sore, pins and needles ran through my twitching muscles, and when I tried to walk, my steps were more of a waddle. I groaned and slapped the dirt off of my jeans, but bending over strained my back. Horse-riding wasn’t as glamorous as I had always thought.

  Craning my head back, I put my hands into my back as I arched it, trying to stretch out the cramped muscles. I opened my eyes and saw, same as before the ride and before I went to sleep, the moon was in the exact same spot in the sky. I stood up straight, but I kept staring at it until I heard the telltale sniff of someone crying.

  The captured man sat on the ground against the wheel of one of the wagons, his knees pulled up and his head dipped low as he tried to huddle into the wheel’s shadow. Others were setting up fires and preparing food for the camp while still others were erecting their crude shelters, everything just the same as before, only now we were in the valley between two mountains rather than a hillside. I dusted my hands off and straightened my sweater before walking over to the man.

  He wasn’t a large man, maybe a few inches taller than me, but thin and wiry. He looked to be in his mid-twenties. His eyes and mouth were showing signs of strain. His hands were tanned and lined and dirt colored his nails. The skin over his knuckles was split and bloody. His hair was curly and bright orange-red, hanging lank over his forehead where his hat had pressed it down. He sniffed again while I watched him. When he realized I stood there, he quickly wiped his face with the sleeve of his jacket and cleared his throat.

  “Sorry,” I said, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  He had a thick Irish accent that swallowed some of the words he spoke. “No, no, s’all right.”

  “Do you mind?” I asked, gesturing to the ground in front of him.

  “Oh, yeah, sure.” His feet scraped the ground as he adjusted himself to sit up straight. I crossed my ankles and dropped to the ground to sit cross-legged in front of him. “Kind of nice to see another human around here.”

  “Kind of, not that either of us wants to be here at all,” I replied, making his mouth twitch in an almost smile.

  “True.” He nodded.

  “Shayna,” I said, holding my hand out for him.

  “Jacob,” he replied, taking my hand in his and shaking it briefly. We sat there in awkward silence for a few moments, listening to the noise of the camp around us, smelling boiling soups and roasting meats.

  “So,” I finally broke the silence, “you know where you are?”

  “Seems the Slaugh got me, didn’t they?” His accent hit Slaugh harder than even Gwyn’s did, drawing the word out to sound like it should: Sloo-ah.

  “Seems so,” I agreed. “Why though? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “Me sister-in-law, the dirty-” He bit off the sentence, swallowing the insult that surely pressed against the back of his teeth.

  “She called them down on you?” I felt an uncomfortable fluttering in my chest.

  “Suppose she did,” he said with a nod.

  “I didn’t know people still did that. I mean, that people still believed,” I said, tilting my head to the side.

  “Most don’t,” he said. “But the stories are still told. Me grandmother, she used to tell us all the stories of the old faiths.”

/>   “Mine too,” I said, making him look up at me.

  “You’re American though?”

  “My grandmother was first generation. Her parents were from Ireland, so she knew all of the stories,” I explained. “Scared the crap out of me, and obviously the stories are true.”

  He laughed. “So they are, so they are.”

  “Why did your sister-in-law do this to you?”

  “Ye mean, what did I do?” he corrected me. I just stared at him; we both knew what I was asking. He waited before he answered, whether to control his anger or if he was deciding to answer me at all, I wasn’t sure.

  “It’s fine.” I put my hands up in front of me, suddenly feeling very awkward. “I shouldn’t have asked; it was rude of me. You don’t even know me.”

  “No, no,” he said, a note of resignation in his voice. “I mean, what’s it matter now, right? I’m here; there’s no going back now.” I bit my tongue then. He’d been hunted and caught, so according to Gwyn, there was no going back for him, but it didn’t seem fair to tell him I might still have a chance of getting out of here.

  “My brother was in a car accident,” he began slowly, dropping his eyes to stare at his hands. “We’d been at the pub most of the night, had one too many. He’d been having troubles with his wife and he needed a night out, you know? He just needed some space to calm down.” He paused then, taking a breath and holding it for a long time before exhaling loudly.

  “The whole damn time his wife was calling his cell, over and over, texting him when he wouldn’t answer. She even called the pub to have the bartender look for him.” He shook his head then, and I saw the muscle in his jaw jumping as he ground his teeth. “Anyway, eventually we knew he’d avoided her long enough and had to get home. Neither of us was in any condition to drive, him more so than me. I tried to take the keys from him, I swear it; we even fought over them.” He held up his bloody knuckles as proof of his story. “But in the end, he got the best of me and got into the car.”