The Mirror of the Moon (Revenant Wyrd Book 2) (32 page)

“It might not be prudent for me to tell you this as both of you are hunters of a sort, and at least one of you is well versed in creatures, but I think it would be wise if you stayed within the firelight tonight. These creatures are like most wild dogs, that being fire will frighten them off. Stay within the light of camp where we know you will be safe.”

“But Grace, they are not that smart. I don’t think they would circle us, waiting for us; they would much rather just attack.” The words Maeven spoke may have been true, but it didn’t help matters.

“Be that as it may, Maeven, nothing has been right in this wood so far, and I don’t think it would be wise to suspect that these are anything like normal Hecklin.”

There was a source of many glowing white orbs just out of range of the fire. “Is that them?” Angelica asked, her voice slightly more frightened than it had been before.

Grace followed her hand and squinted as well. “I am not sure, but it wouldn’t hurt to take watch now, boys. I am sure that none of us will sleep, but I suggest you try, Angelica.”

As the men went to their watch, heavily laden with weapons, Grace went to sit by Angelica, where she huddled close to the ground, her hands balled up in the hem of the blanket holding it close to her chin. Her eyes darted around in fear as if she were but a small child again who had just learned the monsters under her bed were real, and they in fact
did
want to eat her.

“Their eyes are not the same color as the orbs you have been seeing,” Grace informed her, smoothing the blankets protectively over the younger woman. Grace looked across the fire to where Joya lay, wondering when her last trial was to come. “I had the distinct displeasure of meeting a Hecklin one time, and I can tell you that their eyes are greyer, like fog, not as white as snow like the orbs we have been seeing.”

“So you don’t know what it could be that we are seeing?” Angelica queried.

“Not exactly, though I stick by my earlier assessment in saying that whatever it is I can’t imagine it being good if it is still within the Sacred Forest now, not after the Well of Wyrding has been breached.” She tapped her lips in thought. “However, I am reminded of something …” but she trailed off before she could say what it reminded her of.

“What?” Angelica prompted after a few minutes of silence.

“Oh!” Grace exclaimed. Obviously she didn’t realize she had not spoken her thought aloud. “Remember the other day we were talking about them?”

“Yes, and the—”

“AH!” Grace warned. “Don’t say what you were about to.”

“Why?”

“Don’t you find it odd that we were talking about them, and suddenly they appeared?” Angelica shook her head that it was not strange to her. “Think, Angie. Everything we have ever heard of them does not make them indigenous to this region; their main place of habitation has always been reported as the Shadow Realm. What would they be doing in the Sacred Forest?”

“Maybe they just got sidetracked?” she asked hopefully. She keenly hoped that Grace was not right in what she surmised.

“But that doesn’t explain the feeling I have been getting now and then when we mention their names.” Grace glanced around conspiratorially.

“You think we called them?”

“I suspect the wyrd of the Well summoned them in its new, corrupt form, yes.”

“Though I hope you are wrong, it makes sense. The other night it seemed like the wyrd was listening to us, and every time since then when we talk about them.”

“I thought so too,” Grace said.

“Believe me, where this place is concerned I would not rule out anything.”

“I had better tell the others; sit tight.” Grace left Angelica to find the men sitting rather close together, whispering amongst themselves. “What is happening?” Grace asked. She shivered as her question was swallowed up by the deathly calm and quiet forest.

“It isn’t them,” he said, pointing out toward the orbs. “They seem to be growing in number, and they are slowly surrounding us.”

Grace looked, and he was truly right. The orbs flitted here and there, lighting up the ground and the tree trunks that they clung to. Their light seemed to radiate a light kin to the moon. The color in itself told Grace that they might not be as bad as they seemed, however, the wyrd of some creatures, the Hobbedy’s Lantern for instance, could appear good and pure and harness a completely opposite evil.

She cast a thoughtful eye around them. The orbs were slowly surrounding them looking like nothing more than a moth eaten, glowing blanket of moonlight that settled across the earth, clinging to tree trunks.

“That is something,” was all she could think of to say. “Listen, about what pursues us, I think it would be wise if we did not mention anymore creatures until this is all said and done.”

“We were just talking about that as well,” Maeven told her. “I feel as though we have been calling them to us.”

“That is what I think.”

“Yet notice,” Maeven continued, “that none of their species go near the Haunted Graveyard.”

Grace knew what he meant by species; in other words, the Hounds of the Otherworld. “Yes, I know that, but I don’t see how …” She trailed off in thought, looking back around them as if the surrounding landscape held her answer. “The dirt?” she whispered more to herself than to the others sitting with her.

“The dirt,” Maeven confirmed. “I know you bought some in Meedesville, and I think you should ready it; if we are right then smearing the dirt on us might be the only way to escape them. For the time being I think we are protected by these orbs, but when the sun rises, and they are not as prominent, I think we might need the dirt.”

“I will see that it is done,” Grace said.

Angelica was already sleeping, and Grace figured it was most likely because of the presence of the orbs. Malicious they might not be, for they were doing a good job of comforting all of them and keeping the Hecklin at bay, but Grace was still unwilling to trust them.

She busied herself with smearing the dirt on Joya. Once finished she moved to Angelica.

“What?” Angelica woke with a start.

“Maeven has realized a potential solution for our pursuers to leave us in peace. You must smear this dirt on yourself.”

“You mean rub this on my entire body and they won’t bother us?” Angelica said already beginning to strip.

“Yes,” Grace confirmed opening the pouch of dirt. She took a handful of it and walked to the other side of the fire and began to disrobe and rub the dirt over her own body.

G
race knew they were entering fog month when she woke the next morning and was barely able to see the tree limbs decorating the dense canopy of the Sacred Forest above her head.

“Damn,” Grace cussed as she stood knees and other joints cracking in protest and sending a livid fire through her body.

“What?” Angelica asked, coming back to camp from somewhere.

“First off, you let me sleep all night; second, this heavy fog will do nothing to help us find where we are going.” She grumbled.

“Well, I wouldn’t have let you sleep all night, but you would not wake up. And I have read that the fog lifts as the day drags on, so in an hour or so we should be better, right?” Angelica said hopefully, looking around at the dense fog.

“The fog gets burned off as the day gets brighter, but in the middle of the Sacred Forest, where the sun can’t penetrate as deep, and with this heavy of a fog, I think we will be plagued with it all day, and most likely for the rest of our journey.” The fog was also raising hell with Grace’s joints. Now more than ever she felt like a burden to the others.

Before Grace knew it, they were loading Joya up on her mount and then Grace was being similarly loaded up on Holly.

“We will have to walk the horses,” Grace told Maeven, trying to dismount, but a steady hand on her leg kept her in place.

“We will lead the horses, Grace,” he told her.

“Don’t baby me, Maeven,” Grace snapped.

“Don’t treat you as if you are infirm?” Maeven scoffed. “Really you are, but think of it this way, Grace—if you were to walk Holly you would only slow us down. You ride until this passes, and then you can walk your horse.”

“We will have to take frequent breaks, then. I don’t want to freeze up in this spot spending the rest of my days sitting spread eagle.”

Maeven laughed, but all good humor was quickly silenced as the metallic dalua howling of the Hecklin started once more. “Move,” Maeven commanded, all pretenses of happiness ruined.

As midday approached, all thought of the glowing orbs that had kept them safe last night was forgotten as the howling came unmistakably closer. Soon there was no doubt to any of them that they were being surrounded by the Hounds of the Otherworld, and Grace sent up a silent prayer that the Graveyard Dirt would actually work and keep them at bay, and that Maeven’s stabbing in the dark was not just that, but that there was some truth to his surmise.

Genuine dread was in Grace’s eyes as she looked over to where Joya was slumped over Daisy, thankfully tied in place so that the rearing horse did not lose its rider. The shadows of the Hecklin skirted the edge of their vision, dark forms darting to and fro in the white blindness of the Sacred Forest that was even now growing darker as the sun passed its zenith; the fog refused to let the light in any longer than it had already. Above all Grace was aware of the howling. It pierced their ears in a terrifying symphony of horror, both of this world and not at the same time. Grace was not sure how a living creature could make the noise they were making, part dog howling in ravenous hunger, part scavenger bird screaming its triumph at a dying animal that would soon be its meal.

“The fog—I am all wet,” Angelica complained.

“How could you honestly be thinking of that now?” Grace asked. “Of all the things to complain about, Angelica, you chose the one thing that is least likely to get us killed.” Scolding the girl was a chore on the back of a rearing horse, but Grace managed it with aplomb.

“The dirt is running off me as well. If this is the only thing keeping them from us, I think we might be losing the defensive edge we had.”

Grace stopped dead.

The Hecklin continued howling, hungry, nearer. Now their white coats could be seen as they dodged this way and that on their hind legs, walking like man. That is what set them apart from the other wild dogs: their ability to walk like and retain mannerisms similar to a human. They could kill like the most ruthless of men, though they lacked the conscience that even the coldest blooded killer had.

Their defense was lapsing. Soon the Hecklin would have them.

There was a twang, and Grace came to herself in time to see the arrow fly from Maeven’s bow into the thick fog, creating only a slight stir in the air, an eddying to the fog that quickly righted itself.

If it hit anything Grace could not tell because the Hecklin continued howling like a savage wind around them.

Grace’s heart was thundering in her ears, and she wondered if she should take the risk of being seen. There was all this wood around, all this earth she could control. Many things stopped her from acting in desperation.

Mostly she decided against using her wyrd because she was close to the Well of Wyrding, in a forest that once used to be holy with the outflow of neutral wyrd. Now it was becoming corrupt where even one’s words could be turned against them and threaten their very lives. She was loathe to use her wyrd unless that turned against her as well. She hated to think what it would do to her, what it might be doing to Joya even now.

“YES!” Jovian yelled into the din bringing Grace back to herself as she heard not only his triumphant yell but also the scream of a wounded Hecklin. Soon the howling around them turned from those on the hunt to those having found their prey, and like all wild dogs they fell back onto a trait that was even more present in Dalua Dogs: killing the weak for the betterment of the whole.

The shapes darting here and there in the fog turned quickly to a massive huddle not far to their right, tearing and ripping into the wounded Hecklin. She hoped beyond hope that the Hecklin were sated enough to let them pass, but Grace knew, even as the Sacred Forest darkened more, that there was no chance in that happening, for the Hecklin killed for the sake of killing, not for food or self-preservation.