The Hunt: A Custodes Noctis Book (14 page)

“You should’ve told me right after you talked to Blake,” Galen said.

“I know.”

“I don’t like the idea of you standing as king.”

“If Stephen’s right, you get the worst part of the deal. There’s only been one king’s champion since the Keepers voluntarily served. He might not like stepping aside.”

“Great.” Galen took a deep breath. “You should’ve told me, Rob.” His brother turned to him, meeting his eyes. “But you’re right, I was losing myself. The darkness left by the Old One was affecting that, too. I don’t think I could have prevented that loss, even with you there.” He sighed, the anger was gone. “You should’ve told me.”

“Galen, I…”

“But it was the right choice,” Galen said with a smile.

Rob let out the breath he’d been holding. “What now?”

“Go out where I was seven years ago?”

“That’s a good place to start, I think.”

“Should we eat first?”

“No, let’s go out while we still have light, we can worry about food later.”

“Okay.” Galen walked back into the room and picked up his falcata. “Take the Keepers swords?”

“Yes,” Rob said, taking the blade from his brother, as he did, he noticed his hand was shaking. He took a deep breath and led the way down to the Jeep.

“You ready?” Galen asked as he pulled out onto the road, when they reached the highway, he turned left. “It looks like the fog is lifting a little.”

“Maybe,” Rob said. The trees along the road were becoming clearer as the mists thinned.
Most
 
were pines, stunted from growing in salty sand, the trunks gnarled, oddly sparse branches covered with moss, bright against the black of the trunks. The undergrowth, where visible in the twisting tendrils of mist, was dark, nearly black, and reeds rose at odd angles, indicating it was far wetter just off the road than it might look at first glance. An open area loomed up on Rob’s left, the square pond covered with blood-red plants.

“Cranberries,” Galen said quietly. “We’re getting close.”

Something moved in front of the car, drifting through the fog. It left a trail behind it, the mist swirling in to fill the path like air into a vacuum. “Turn here!”

Galen obeyed without asking why and turned carefully onto the narrow muddy track. Along the road birch trees were mingled with the pines, their stark white trunks looking like bones rising out of the fog. The forest opened a little as the road turned, and Rob could see the black edges of a bog. Galen pulled to a stop under a huge tree, its empty branches reaching out over a stone wall. “Rob?”

“I saw something coming this way.”

“What?” Galen asked, reaching into the back seat and handing Rob his two swords, then grabbing his own.

“I don’t know, it was just moving in the fog.” He got out of the Jeep. “There’s a path here.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Galen chuckled and motioned for Rob to lead the way.

As they got close to the water, Rob could smell the rotten odor of the pond, ancient vegetation mixing with other scents, dead, decaying things, lost from view in the swirling mists. Two large rocks, just visible as dark shadows in the fog, sat at one side of the bog.

“Nice place,” Galen said, looking at him.

“Definitely picturesque. I’ll go left.” Rob turned and wandered along the edge of the bog. He stopped by a large flat rock. “Galen?” He could just make out his brother through the shifting mist.

“What?” Galen said, walking from where he had been exploring the other edge of the pond.

“I found the altar.” Rob crouched down by a flat stone, even though it was wet he could see the darker stains of blood. The rock was decorated with spirals, blood had pooled in the deeper parts of the design. Galen laid his hand on the stone, color draining from his face. Darkness swirled around him. “Galen?” His brother didn’t answer. “Hey!” Rob lifted his hands off the stone.

“Thanks.” Galen blinked, the darkness moving around him fading into the background.

“What’s there?”

“Too much.” Galen smiled wanly and stood. “It’s not the main altar, though, can you see where that is?”

Rob straightened and looked around them. There was a shimmer in the mists in the field in front of the bog. “It’s there.” The chiming of bells was increasing as he stood there, the fog filling his mind.

“Let’s finish scouting the pond,” Galen’s voice pulled him back to the stinking bog.

“No, wait,” Rob said, listening to the sound of approaching horses.

“Rob?”

“They’re coming.” He could see the shadow forms moving across the field, the dead grass moving as if touched by a breeze. “This is the first ritual, Galen,” he said, turning to his brother. “It marked me, but this is the moment the Hunt formally accepts me—us.”

“Yes.” Galen swallowed hard.

“Once this is done, your Gift should come back quickly.”

“I’ll need it, won’t I?”

“Probably.” Now that this moment had arrived, Rob was terrified. Galen put a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks.” It was growing colder, Rob was having a hard time breathing, the fog was filling his lungs, his mind. His legs went out from under him and he dropped to his knees, watching as the
each uisge
appeared out of the mists. It stepped towards him, he had a brief vision of the graying flesh of the huge figure before he closed his eyes, unable to look any longer. Something cold and slimy touched his face, fetid breath smelling of death wafted over him. He kept his eyes closed. Sharp pain ran up his arm as the
each uisge
grabbed him with its teeth. It dragged him over the ground and the icy, stinking water closed over his head. A heavy foot held him under the water until his lungs were screaming for air. At the last moment before he drew a breath, he was yanked out of the water. He could hear dogs howling in the distance as he was dropped onto the ground. Dazed, he felt the ground under his hands, the spirals of the altar stone cut into his palms.

Rob managed to force his eyes open. The horses were close, he could see them now, half-fleshed, the riders skeletal caricatures of their human counterparts. A shout, human, but somehow not, flowed over them, the horses stopped and one of them whinnied. A hand touched Rob, cold, pulling the warmth out of him, taking his breath way. They held him immobile, the lifeless hands pressing him into the ground, holding his head so he was forced to look at the horses and riders.
 
He could hear the bells clearly now, someone was chanting softly, words he didn’t recognize at first. One of the riders dismounted and walked towards him.

The figure bent over him, a hand, nearly human, touched his face. He tried to look away from what he saw—the man, the shimmering darkness behind him, the mists moving through his eyes. The man sighed happily. He snapped his fingers and a cup was given to him, dull metal gleaming in the soft light. Rob could see dark colors surrounding the goblet. The hands holding him pressed him harder against the altar, their claw-like nails digging into his skin. The man placed the cup against Rob’s lips and tipped a little of the liquid in and handed the cup to one of the men holding Rob.

The man’s face was shifting living to dead, young to old. He gently pulled the fabric of Rob’s shirt away, and spoke softly, drawing on Rob’s chest with his finger. It left a burning trail in its wake, the complicated design covered most of Rob’s chest. When he was finished, he placed two fingers on Rob’s forehead, pausing for a moment, waiting for something. The shock of that touch slammed into Rob’s body, filling him with the icy mists, tearing him away from the cold ground and the hard stone.

Through eyes that no longer felt like his own, he saw the man pull a curved knife from his belt. Part of Rob sang with joy, the other part knew that he’d been right, this was a fatal mistake. He barely felt the touch of the knife as it was moved along his throat, hardly noticed the warmth of blood run over his neck. All he knew was he was tumbling down into sparkling darkness, an ancient melody singing joyfully through his body.

The remembered sound of the soft chiming of bells filled the air, creeping through the air like fog, touching everything, leaving the physical brush of its touch, sound became tactile, as it caressed everything around it. The smell of wet, of decay, of death floated on the air with the sound of the bells. The main group of
 
horses stopped, Galen could hear them shifting out in the fog. They were watching him, he knew that, sensed their eyes, felt a chill run up his spine. Soft whispers of conversation drifted through the fog, the language odd, tantalizingly close to something recognizable.

Galen remained motionless, not giving the riders standing behind him any reason to touch him again. They’d pulled him away from Rob, their touch momentarily paralyzing him behind a cold layer of swirling mists. The fog cleared in time for Galen to see his brother dragged into the pond by the
each uisge.
He held his breath, counting the seconds until the creature reappeared with Rob. It carried him to the altar and dropped him there. Galen’s eyes were fixed to the spot, watching as the ritual played out. He knew the moment Rob began to be pulled away to the Hunt. Rob’s body arched in pain, reacting to the touch of the man. In that moment, the Gift, his healing, the gentle pulse of power along his spine was back full force, warming him, letting the bond snap back into place. The connection was still muted, the whisper of Rob’s presence nearly silent, but it was there. He felt the touch of the knife on Rob’s throat as the wound was made.

The man straightened from the altar. He spoke a few quiet words, his face shifting like the fog. Turning, he walked to where Galen stood and stopped in front of him. Galen met his look, wondering what Rob would have seen there—what Galen could see was horror enough. As the face shifted it moved from human to skeletal, young to old, and not just one face, hundreds lurked there under the surface, like a darkened pond full of the corpses of ancient trees.

The man spoke to Galen, at first the words made no sense, but they slowly formed into meaning. “He is better than we could have hoped, for one who has fallen.” Something like a smile crossed his face. “Your sacrifice will be honored, your blood will pave the way for our new king.” He laid a hand on Galen’s shoulder. Galen braced himself, focusing the Gift to block the effect of the touch. The man pulled away, staggering back. “Who are you? What have you done?” He cast a glance at Rob, motionless on the altar, then back at Galen.

“I did nothing,” Galen answered truthfully. He spoke English, unsure if the man would understand.

“Take him.”

“No,” Rob said softly in the same language the man was speaking. His accent was different, but the man understood, he turned to where Rob was struggling to stand.

“No?” the man said with a growl.

“No.” Rob’s voice was firm despite the blood running down his neck. “I offer myself, I stand for the ritual. As it once was.”

“As it will be,” the man replied.

“The sacrifice must be met,” another rider said, stepping forward. Galen narrowed his eyes, from the way the other acted, his clothing and the sword he was carrying it was the king’s champion, the man Galen would replace.

“No.” Rob shook his head, swaying on his feet. “There is no need. I am joining of my free will.”

“But still blood must flow,” the champion insisted.

“You violate the ritual,” Rob snapped, his voice commanding. The champion reeled back from the derision in his voice.

“We honor the Tradition.”

“You know nothing of the Tradition. You defile the Tradition. We stand together. We join together, my brother and I, we honor the Tradition.”

“Who are you, that lectures me on Tradition?”

Rob smiled. “Robert Emrys.” He drew himself up, Galen felt a gentle tug through the bond, he let the light flow along their connection. Rob took a deep breath. “I stand as King, I accept this place, I honor the Hunt, I seek this honor.” The words were formal, Galen understood they were part of the ritual.
“Your turn,”
Rob said through the bond.

Galen had no idea what he was supposed to say, he needn’t have worried, Rob supplied the words, the language and cadence flowing through their connection. He opened his mouth and the words flowed out of him. “I stand as Champion, I serve my King, I accept this place, I honor the Hunt, I seek this honor.”

“No!” the champion said, stepping up to Galen. He raised his hand and would have stuck him, but the other man grabbed his arm, skeletal fingers wrapping around the wrist in a tight grip.

“That is not for you to decide!” the man said angrily. He turned to Rob. “The ritual will be as it was, as it has not been for these many centuries. It is good, it is right, it is joy.”

“It is good, it is right, it is joy,” Rob echoed.

“Tonight’s ritual is met, until the morrow.” The man turned and strode back to his horse.

“Until the morrow.” Rob lifted his hand in farewell.

“You do not ride with us yet, Emrys,” the champion whispered to Galen, the threat apparent in his voice. With what might have been a smile, he joined the other riders. As one they turned and disappeared into the swirling mists.

Galen was moving the instant they were gone, running to catch his brother as he fell, lowering him gently to the ground. There was a tiny mark, like a burn, where the man had touched Rob’s forehead. The slice on Rob’s throat wasn’t serious, just deep enough to let it bleed, but his arm where the
each uisge
had grabbed him was ugly, the flesh torn. Galen laid his hands on Rob’s head and chest and let the Gift flow, stopping the bleeding and healing wounds. He felt the light move through Rob, chasing some of the cold mists away.

“Galen?” Rob said, coughing and opening his eyes.

“Hey.” Galen hadn’t realized until that moment how terrified he’d been, but now that it was over, he was more confident. Maybe they hadn’t made a mistake after all. “Can you sit up?”

“With a little help.” Rob held out his hand and Galen pulled him up, steadying him with a hand behind his back. “My arm hurts.”

“The
each uisge
tore it up when it took you into the pond, it’s going to be sore.”

“How bad is the throat?”

“Not bad.” Galen looked at the freshly healed wound. “It wasn’t deep. Ready to stand up?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Rob said with a deep breath. Galen helped him onto his feet. Rob stood looking down at the altar, his eyes unfocused. He shook his head and glanced at Galen. “I see what you felt.” His face was bleak as he looked away, across the field to where the other altar was hidden in the grass. After a moment he turned back to Galen, grimacing.

“What’s wrong?”

“I smell like bog water.”

“Yes,” Galen said with a laugh. “Yes, you do.”

“Great, and I’m starving, too. No chance of stopping for food on the way back to the motel, is there?” Rob set off down the trail towards the Jeep.

“Lucky for you I grabbed a change of clothes.”

“You did?”

“More than half the time when we go out like this, one of us ends up needing clean clothes.”

Rob chuckled. “Too true.”

“And you are not getting into my car smelling like that.”

“I let you bleed all over the seats of my car two months ago and you hold a little bog water against me?”

“Do you really want that stink in the car?” Galen asked, stopping by the back of the Jeep, opening it, putting their weapons in and handing Rob the clean jeans, t-shirt and a garbage bag.

“No.”
 
Rob took the clothes. “I’ll tie the bag up tight.”

“Good idea,” Galen said, walking around the car and getting in. He turned the ignition on and
 
flipped the heater on high. It was starting to put out warm air when Rob got in.

“I saw a pizza place in town,” Rob said before Galen could speak.

“You don’t want to just head back to the motel?”

“Too hungry.”

Something in his tone alerted Galen, he glanced over at his brother. “Rob?”

“Not the motel, not yet,” Rob said softly.

“Pizza it is.”

Galen turned onto the highway into town, the fog was closing in again, shutting off the world except for the car and the few inches that the headlights cut through the mist. A traffic light loomed out of the gray blanket, the occasional street light cast ghostly beams through the mists, illuminating the area under it, making everything around seem darker, less visible. He was beginning to worry that he’d missed the entire business section of town when a bright “open” sign reflected reds and blues into the fog. He pulled into the curb. The business section of the town was less than three blocks long, and he figured they’d be more likely to find what they were looking for on foot.

“I think it was across the street from the tavern,” Rob said.

“And where was the tavern?” Galen said, stepping onto the sidewalk.

“In town?”

“Helpful, Brat.”

“I smell it,” Rob piped up after they’d walked past four stores. “Is that a beer sign?”

Galen squinted into the fog. “You’re cheating again.”

“Just because you won’t use the healing for a hangover doesn’t mean it’s cheating when I use the Sight to find food.” Rob laughed. “Here we are.”

Galen opened the door. The small restaurant was immaculately clean and smelled of fresh bread and spices. The place was empty, they sat down at a table by the window. “Smells good in here,” Galen said, watching Rob; now that they were sitting down, he realized that his brother wasn’t all the way there. He was used to Rob partially checking out when he was researching or meditating, but since the bond was muted, this lack of attention bothered Galen more than usual. He wasn’t sure if it was just Rob thinking hard, or the call of the Hunt that was distracting him. “Rob?”

“Huh?” Rob was staring at a point somewhere over Galen’s shoulder. He could see mists swirling through Rob’s eyes.

“You with me?”

“What?” Rob blinked and shook his head. “Yeah.”

“Hello,” a man who looked to be in his early thirties said as he approached the table. “Can I get you something to drink?” He put menus on the table.

“Thanks, just water for now.” Galen quickly looked over the menu. “We’ll have the veggie supreme.” The man nodded and Galen waited until he was gone before he turned back to Rob.
 

“You understood what they were saying?” Rob asked.

“Only a little at first, I got most of it once I was hearing through you.”

“You recognize it?”

“Yes and no, enough so it eventually made words in my brain.”

“It was a variant of Old English.”

“What?”

“It was!” Rob said, enthusiasm lighting his eyes. “But it’s evolved, they’ve added some interesting words that weren’t present in the original dialect.” He trailed off with a grin. “That’s what was probably that throwing you off.”