From the prompt: "The thrill of the hunt..."
"Christian"
The full moon of Beltan shone above. The forest was silent except for the faint rustle of leaves as something passed. Stars hung like glittering diamonds against midnight-blue velvet as an unearthly sound broke the stillness of the air. The hunt was on. Tucked away, safe and asleep in their houses lay the simple townspeople of Cavendish. No one knew that one young man was missing from his bed and wandering through the forest.
Heavy breathing was loud in the cool air. Branches broke, twigs clawing at his aface and hair as he tore wildly through the trees, casting fearful glances over his shoulder to see if his pursuers were still on his tail. His grey eyes flew wide, his gasps full of terror when he saw a stag bound silently across the forest floor. The hunters were getting closer. He could see the dark silhouette of the leader. That unearthly sound of the hunters' horn filled his ears again, echoing through the trees.
He turned and ran, paying no hyeed to the burning in his lungs; he just wanted to live. He had no idea where he was going and didn't care as he tore through the undergrowth.
He cried out when a low-hanging bough swiped him in the face, stinging his eyes. Momentarily blinded - that moment was all it took for him to lose his footing and take an unwilling dive for the dirt. He jerked his head around, pawing the dust out of his eyes to clear his vision. He tried to scramble to his feet to go on but his legs failed him, pain knifing through the ankle twisted from the fall.
The hunter stood over him. He raised his horn and that low, haunting sound throbbed in the air. All he could do was stare at the figure of a man with the antlers of a stag sprouting from his curly hair as the rest of the hunters rode in behind on mounts of their own. The stags lowered themselves in graceful bows as if acknowledging the presence of the King of the Forest that stood over his quarry, allowing their riders to dismount.
This was the second time he'd found himself on the ground, at the mercy of an elemental as the victim of the Wild Hunt. He could see the glowing eyes through the darkness that belonged to the leader. He knew it wasn't because he was exhausted to the breaking point of a mortal that he was seeing a man with horns riding a stag, but all of the old tales his Nanna had told him as a child were coming to life. He'd run when chased, now he was their prey. They could do what they wanted with him.
"What do you want?" he gasped out. He knew his end was approaching fast - he could run no further and now it was his time to die. He would die like a man.
There was no answer, just a chant that rose up between the hunters. The words, arcane and inhuman, were spellbinding. The men's voices dipped and rose, weaving around each other and sending gooseflesh up his arms. He knew it was the chant of death and that he shouldn't listen, but he was doomed anyway.
This was the wild hunt. They picked a person and watched him. If he walked, he was safe. If he ran, they chased him, ran him down until he was a mindless zombie driven by sheer terror, hunted until he could go no further. Then they killed him.
His heart leapt into his throat when the hunters formed a circle around him. A dozen tall, lithe, horned figures that were anything but human.
"All right, kill me now," he said, lifting his head and trying to steady his ragged panting. "I will die like a man."
The chanting never stopped.
His heart did when the circle parted to reveal a small figure standing just outside the threshold, her silvery hair glowing in the moonlight. She stepped forwards with a tiny bundle in her arms. His eyes were huge as she knelt before him.
"Eilonwy," he whispered in a mixture of awe, wonder and total surprise. He reached out to caress her face. Her beauty was always a seduction to the senses, just was he'd remembered it the night he'd faced her when she was leading huntress of the Wild Hunt. She smiled at him, eliciting an aching in his heart.
The eyes of the lead hunter glowed dangerously. He stepped forwards, placing a proctective hand on Eilonwy's shoulder. The young man drew back, his mouth dropping open as the face of the leader fell beneath the light. The Horned One was a young man with the face of a mortal like any other, but like Eilonwy he had something else, a power that emanated from his very core. He was something otherworldly - proud, beautiful, alien.
"I'm sorry," Eilonwy whispered in her soft, sorrowful voice, stroking his face with her gentle hand. Then she held out the gift she bore. He sat up, taking the white bundle of furs from her carefully. He glanced up at her questioningly. She met his gaze and nodded, urging him past his hesitation. With trembling hands, he smoothed back the folds to see a tiny sleeping baby. As if he knew he was being watched, he opened his eyes and smiled, letting out a musical baby giggle.
The young man smiled back. The baby had his eyes. He looked up at the mother and she shook her head, her eyes reflecting the pain from his soul. She ran one finger across the smooth, soft skin of the baby's forehead, and he saw the shimmering mark that caused the baby's eyes to flare blue. The young man fought back tears, rocking the baby gently. Eilonwy shook her head sadly, stifling a sob. She reached out and took the baby away, sitting back on her haunches and rocking it.
The young man gazed at her, raw anguish shining out of his eyes. "Eilonwy, I - I'm sorry too," he stammered. He glanced up, saw the lead Hunter back in the circle glaring at him and looked away quickly.
"I'm sorry, Ranolfe," Eilonwy whispered, one last time. She stooed up and turned away, walking to fill the spot in the circle beside the lead hunter. Her hunter. Then she lifted the ivory horn at her side, letting loose the final call.
Ranolfe bowed his head, closing his eyes as a single tear escaped. He didn't need to see to know it was his end.
Eilonwy watched from the background, cradling her child tenderly as Herne and the rest of the hunters closed in, cutting Ranolfe off from sight. She gasped and turned away, squeezing her eyes shut and she saw Herne lift his spear and let it fall.
Ranolfe's child was the lost he saw before he died.
INDEX
HOME
NEXT
BACK
© Agent Duo 2004