Spirit (8 page)

The hound, Balor
I assumed, looked over his shoulder toward the voice but didn’t budge. He
whimpered and whined, his tail swishing through the air in his excitement.

“Balor, you blasted
mutt!” the voice rang out again, louder and closer now.

“Oy! Lookie what
he’s caught!” a gravelly voice said from my side, but I couldn’t turn my head
toward it because Balor was still standing on my hair. The next moment, one of
the green-skinned goblins stared me in the eye, his face mere inches from mine.
I tried to scream, but the pain in my side turned it into a pathetic whimper.

“What’s this?”
the first voice asked just as the goblin disappeared from my line of sight.
Dark grey boots stopped right before my face. I tried to look up at him,
knowing it was the silver-maned elf I had been admiring earlier, but I knew if
I turned my head even a little, Balor’s weight would rip out a chunk of my
hair.

“Is a girl,” a
second goblin hissed, crouching down by the boots and my face. His forked
tongue shot out, tasting the air and making me cringe.

“Oh, nay,” the
elf said, one boot nudging the peering goblin out of the way before he crouched
down in front of me. His wrists were propped on his knees, and his hair pooled
on the ground like a puddle of quicksilver.

“Nay,” he
repeated, “this is no girl.” He said girl like
gel.
His accent spoke of all of the British Isles, not just one.
“Here we have a fallen angel.”

A chorus of
noises rang through the group. Some hissed, others laughed, but mostly they
made noises of dismissal. I guessed fallen angels weren’t that big of a deal there.

“Did they cut
your tongue when they clipped your wings, girl?” he asked, his black eyes
boring into mine.

“No,” I
breathed, wincing in pain at the effort. “But if it slipped your notice, I have
a massive dog standing on my hair at the moment.”

“Aye, yeah,” he
said, one hand shooting out to slap the dog on the hindquarters. “Off with ye,
Balor!” The dog cantered away, the rough pads of his paws taking a few strands
of my hair as souvenirs.

“Thanks,” I
mumbled, carefully pushing myself to my knees before sitting back on my heels.
I wrapped my arms around my ribs and closed my eyes for a moment, trying to get
a handle on the pain. After going so long without feeling anything whatsoever,
to have so many sensations suddenly assaulting me made me dizzy.

“Hurt, are we?”
the elf asked, and before I could answer him, I felt two of his fingertips
touch my forehead. Just that quickly, the pain disappeared. My head stopped
spinning, and when I drew in a breath, I no longer felt the hot sear of burning
coals in my side.

“What did you
just do?” I asked, touching my face, feeling for the cuts that were no longer
there.

“Put ye to
rights,” he said casually, still balanced in a crouch, watching me.

“Why?” I asked,
but he didn’t answer. He just shrugged one shoulder. Apparently it didn’t take
much for him to perform magic. It didn’t even look like he had taken time to
draw up his power from anywhere.

“So,” he said,
“what’s the name then? Or do ye like being called girl?”

“Oh, um,” I stumbled
lamely, “my name’s Shay.”

“Aye, Shay.” He
nodded and held out a hand for me. “Gwyn.”

I reached for
his hand, but he slipped past my hand and clasped my wrist, making me clasp
his. It was an odd sort of old-fashioned handshake, and before I could let go,
he pulled me to my feet. Standing in front of him, I blinked up, realizing just
how much taller he was than I had thought while watching him on his horse. My
head barely came to his shoulders.

“Bit of a pixie,
aren’t we?” he asked, smiling down at me.

“Oh, uh, no.” I
shook my head, but he just laughed, squeezing my wrist one last time before
releasing it. I glanced around and saw the three goblins eyeing me, clustered
together and chattering in that foreign language. The rest were bundling up
their kills and strapping them to the horses. Some had already mounted, waiting
for the rest.

“We are away,”
Gwyn called out, circling a finger in the air as he walked over to his mount.
He let out a sharp, loud whistle, and the red-eared white hounds came together
in a herd and bounded after him.

“No!” I called
out and hurried after him. “Please, wait!”

“Aye?” Gwyn
asked as he gripped the reins of his horse before swinging himself up easily,
flying through the air to settle on the horse.

“Listen,” I
said, “I don’t know where I am or how I got here.”

“The Outlands is
where ye are, girl,” Gwyn said as he situated himself.

“Wait, the
Outlands
?” I asked, shaking my head.
“Like outside the Shide?”

“Ah, aye,
perhaps an angel and a pixie.” He nodded. My grandmother had told me about the
Outlands when I was a child. It was a place without rest, a place banished
spirits were sent. I had always thought it was just a scary story told to kids
to ensure they behaved, kind of like being afraid Santa would know when you
were being naughty or nice. The Outlands was where restless spirits went to
roam. So really, it was very much like Hell.

Gwyn made a hand
motion to part of his hunting party, and I knew he was about to lead them off,
so I reached up and grabbed the length of his reins and held on to them.

“Please, I don’t
know how to get out of here,” I said. “I have to get home.” Gwyn glanced down
at my hands, one silver brow arching high before he turned those black eyes on
me.

“Home? So ye
really think ye can escape the Slaugh?” I snatched my hands back, dropping the reins,
and stumbled back a few steps. He tsked at me and shook his head.

“The
Slaugh
?” I repeated. He nodded slowly,
that sly smile spreading into a grin as he watched the color drain from my
face. I heard my grandmother’s voice in my mind, warning me to never anger the
Fae for fear of facing the wrath of the Slaugh. The Wild Hunt. The harbingers
of justice and fury. The
Slaugh
brought
the damned souls to this forsaken place. They were a relentless hunting party,
always looking for kinslayers and oathbreakers. If you were wronged by someone,
you could invoke the Slaugh to take that person from my former world to this
one to exact your revenge. But the
Slaugh
hadn’t brought me here, which was why I hadn’t known where I was until then. And
I had let the Hunt Master touch me, heal me.

“And remember,
Shayna Bridget,” my grandmother said as she bent over to kiss my forehead. “If
the Hunt catches you and the Hunt Master heals your wounds from your journey
into the Outlands, you will be caught there forever.”

“Aye,
the Slaugh,” he said, pulling me out of the memories. The rest of his party
circled around us, the horses and hounds crowding in close, making me feel
small and vulnerable.

“You
healed me,” I whispered, my hands clasped close to my chest.

“Aye.”

“Am
I trapped here now?”

“We
were not hunting you,” he said. “So, we did not catch you.”

“So
I’m not trapped here,” I said, glancing away from him, looking around as if I
could find the door out of this place.

“Perhaps
not, but then again,” he said, drawing my attention back to him, “perhaps ye
are.”

“Can
you help me?” I asked quickly, stopping him again.

“Do
ye wish to join the Hunt, pixie girl?” he asked, and the crowd tittered with
laughter. I felt my cheeks flush with heat. Obviously I wasn’t interested in
joining the Hunt if I wanted to go home. Once the Slaugh took you, there was no
leaving it; you were bound for eternity.

“I
want to go home.”

“Aye.”
He nodded.

“But
I need help; I can’t survive out here alone.” I thought of those cat monsters
and the carnivorous birds and whatever was roaring in the distance. I was
powerless, weaponless.

Gwyn
cursed in a language I didn’t understand, but once he caught his breath, he
held out a hand for me. When I took it, he pulled me up easily, swinging me
around to sit behind him. Wrapping my arms around his waist, I prayed I hadn’t
made a mistake asking the Hunt Master for help.

With
another sharp whistle, he urged his steed forward with his heels into its
flanks, and then we were off. The horse set off at a gallop so fast that when I
tried to pick my head up to see where we were going, the force of the wind
brought tears to my eyes. The stripling trees went by in a black and grey blur.
The creatures of the Hunt let out cries and hollers of joy and excitement as we
rode. I gripped Gwyn hard enough to break a human’s bones, but it didn’t seem
to bother him one bit. In fact, I thought I felt him chuckle. But I was
terrified I would slip from the back of the horse and, at this speed, I was
sure to break my neck. Being dead, I wasn’t sure if that would kill me again,
or if I would just have to live with the interminable pain of a broken neck. I
really didn’t want to find out either way.

With
my cheek pressed into Gwyn’s back and my eyes squeezed shut, I didn’t notice
the scenery change, but after a moment of confusion, I realized I could feel
the air shifting around me. It was vaguely familiar, like a forgotten memory. I
chased the memory, trying to snatch it out of the mist, and finally I realized
I was feeling the shifting currents of magic.

My
eyes burst open, and I picked my head up just in time to see the forest around
us fade away. The horses and hounds slowed down and the riders’ joyous cries
stopped. When Gwyn pulled on the reins, slowing the horse to a walk, I peered
over his shoulder. The forest was gone, and we were in a clearing just before a
slow rise of hills. At the foot of the hills was an encampment. I could see the
smoke from small fires and figures milling about. The hunters dismounted,
taking their kills with them, and headed toward the fires. Gwyn reared his
horse next to a small figure who reached for the reins. When I looked at him, I
realized he was a brownie, an Earth faerie. I smiled at him, but he only stared
back at me with his mud brown eyes, his crooked mouth turned down in a frown.

“Off
ye get, pixie girl,” Gwyn said as he dismounted, landing silently in the brown
grass. I slid off the horse clumsily. The height made me nearly fall to my
knees when I landed, a shock of pain vibrating through my knees. Only Gwyn’s
quick hands kept me upright.

Heat
rushed to my face, and I couldn’t bring myself to look at the elf. I felt Gwyn
grinning at me. I’m sure he didn’t meet clumsy humans very often anymore since
so many of us had forgotten the old faiths. I couldn’t imagine when the Slaugh
had last been summoned from the Outlands.

Gwyn
started off without a word before I could thank him. I had to hurry to catch
up, his strides the length of two of mine. I cleared my throat. “So, this is
the Slaugh?” I gestured to the encampment. “I thought it would be bigger.”

“It
is,” he said with a nod. “This is only one hunting party. There are many, many
more.”

“Oh.
Listen, I was hoping you could tell me how to get back to my world.”

“Now
is not the time for that,” he said bluntly, cutting me off.

“Why?”
I realized I was almost out of breath from trying to keep up with him.

“Because
now it is time for the feast.” I gritted my teeth and kept pace with him until
we made it to one of the fires. Three of the not-opossums were already roasting
on a spit over the flames. When I looked around, I saw more of the skinned and
spitted animals over the scattered fires, and the various creatures of the Hunt
circled them, waiting for their roasts.

Gwyn
sat on a rough, hand carved stool, the only one by his fire. Everyone else
crouched on the grass, gazing into their fires. I could smell the roasting meat,
and the sounds of dripping fat, sizzling in the fire, made my mouth water. Like
a punch in the gut, I realized it had been ages since I last ate. I stood
awkwardly outside of the circle, sure I had no place there since I hadn’t
caught any of those animals and wasn’t even helping cook. A cramp knotted my
stomach, making me grimace.

I
rushed forward with a wash of relief when Gwyn casually waved me over to join
them. He gestured to the empty space by his right, and I dropped to my knees in
the grass, resting my hands on my thighs as I too became entranced by the fire.
All thoughts of how to get home suddenly fled from my mind. So desperate for a
full belly, I didn’t even blink when a small, hunchbacked creature with black,
leathery wings bursting from his back reached over to turn the spit, rotating
the cooking animals. Before long, the meat was ready and everyone had their
share, Gwyn’s notably larger. I only had a moment’s hesitation as I held onto
the steaming leg, the juices greasing my fingers, when I realized I was about
to bite into an overgrown rodent. Then my stomach got the better of me and I
bit into the charred meat.

I
groaned in satisfaction as the juices burst in my mouth and the meat shredded,
almost as soft as butter. I wondered if I was being as foolish as Persephone
trusting Hades, but then I reminded myself I was in the Celtic afterlife; they
bound you with words, not food. And that was the most delicious risk I had
taken in years.