Mark Sehestedt - Hand of the Hunter

He patted her cheek, softly at first, then once with a hard smack. Nothing. He shook her. "Hey! Hey, girl!"

Lightning flickered overhead, but only nail-thin shafts of light made it through the thick canopy of trees. Thunder washed over the valley, shaking the stones in the river. The rain, an endless rattle on the leaves, became a torrent, a roar. The swell of the river quickened. She'd be underwater soon.

He scrambled out of the stream. The girl was wearing fur-lined boots, suitable for a much colder place than this. Braided leather laces bound them up to her knees. He worked his fingers under the laces, planted both feet in the ground, and pulled. She moved, perhaps an inch. Then two more. A relieved smile creased his face.

Then both his feet skidded out from under him and he went down, mud and water slipping into his clothes.

He sat up, spat water and grit, and let loose with a long litany of curses.

Water was coming right off the hillside into the stream, and his fall had opened a nice little rivulet so that water was flowing over the girl. He leaped back into the stream and lifted her head out of the water. She made a choking noise then coughed. He looked at her, saw her eyes blink once-knew that in the darkness there was no way she could see a damned thing-and had time to say, "Are y-?"

The girl screamed and surged upwardThe horror had not passed. But it had retreated. No longer ripping and tearing through her mind, it had pulled back to-

Watch. Watch and wait. For now.

She fought to get back to light and breath and sound. But the darkness would not let her. More than the absence of light. This darkness had weight. Presence. And worst of all, a will.

"… he'll kill-me-kill-me-kill…"

A small voice. Not weak, but far away, as if she lay at the bottom of a well, listening to voices far above.

"Hey! Hey, girl!"

Something broke through the darkness. Not pain exactly. A jarring sensation. It seemed that she lay still, but the world shifted around her.

Cold. A wet cold was the first sensation to break through. Water, flooding in, choking her. She drew in breath to scream, and the water poured down her throat.

All her senses snapped back, and the darkness disintegrated like the bursting of a bubble.

Night. Dark, yes, but not that other presence that had tried to consume her. This darkness held no weight. An incessant roar filled the air. Rain. Storm. And all around her-washing over her-water, water, and more water. All the world had become a cold, lightless wet.

But a little of the darkness before her had a solidness to it. Then it spoke.

"Are y-?"

Instinctively, she screamed and lashed out. Her arm came around, and the back of one fist connected with flesh and bone. The figure fell back and the river swallowed it.

She ran. Her clothes were sodden, heavy, and they pulled at her. Her boot slipped in the mud, she went down in a splash, then came up again. She made it perhaps half-a-dozen steps, but then her boots sank into the muck. Momentum carried her upper half forward, and when her hands thrust out to break her fall, they too sank up to her wrists. She pulled, but the ground pulled back, yanking her until she was up to her elbows in mud.

She screamed, and only then did she realize she could see. Green light lit the wood around her. Where-?

The ground heaved, encasing her up to her chest, lifting her, and turning her around. For a moment, she thought she'd been caught in a mudslide brought on by the storm, but then she saw the figure standing at the water's edge.

Only a little over half her height had he been standing upright, he was made smaller still by his hunched posture. His right hand held a staff longer than he was tall. It twinkled with tiny lights in a hundred shades of green-sparks cast by dozens upon dozens of tiny amulets, coins, bits of chain, and random scraps of metal that tinkled with even the slightest movement. He held his other hand beside his face, and she could see his fingers working in intricate patterns. More light shone from there. Patterns-runes, most sharp edged-decorated his skin, and each of them blazed with an emerald fire.

She screamed.

The mud encasing her surged forward in a wave, then stopped and settled so that she was only a few feet from the small person.

"Be silent," he said.

The mud pressed on her. She couldn't move her arms, and the weight of it made breathing an effort.

"My name is Gleed," said the figure. "I just saved your life. The Master has sent you to me. Your name is Meyla. It means 'little girl' in my mother's tongue, for that is what you are-an ignorant little girl-until I say differently. Until you prove differently. Understand, Meyla?"

Rain and grit was streaming into her eyes, but she could not wipe them away.

"My name… is Hweilan."

His eyes widened and he took in a sharp breath. She had never seen a creature like this before. Small as a five-year-old child and scrawny as an old man. But even a fool could see he was shocked. Stunned.

"What did you say?" he said.

"My name"-she fought to get enough breath into her lungs-"Huh-Hweilan!"

He blinked twice, and the fingers of his left hand stopped their intricate motions. The lights decorating his skin and staff dimmed, but they did not go out. She felt the mud around her loosen, and a great deal of it sloughed off into the river, washing over the little creature's feet. Then his eyes narrowed, part suspicion and part curiosity.

"What do you remember?"

The Hunter's eyes blazed. Two green forge fires that gave no heat. A thousand howls filled the night. Raucous cries rained down from the boughs overhead.

Hweilan looked up.

Hundreds of ravens looked down on her, their black eyes reflecting the moonlight. Yellow wolves' eyes watched her from the shadows under the trees. Waiting and hungry, held back only by the will of the antlered thing before her-neither man nor beast, but something far older.

You are mine, Hweilan. You were always mine.

He took off his mask.

She screamed. And then he was inside her.

It was inside her. That presence, that mind, ripping through her essence. She'd once seen a wolf pack ripping into the carcass of a swiftstag, the strongest members of the pack barking and growling and snapping to get at the soft undersides. They beat back the others with tooth and claw, then set to their meal. Now and then a wolf's entire head disappeared into the carcass to get at the choicest bits.

That image flashed through her thoughts as the Hunter's mind tore through hers. Biting and clawing and consuming her. Chewing through every memory, every want and desire, every hidden hope, every secret shame, then going deeper still to-

He bit down.

And something bit back.

Something hidden. Something that had been sleeping for… forever-at least in terms of her own life.

But it was awake now. Awake and raging.

The Hunter bit down upon it, and that thing-that other-blazed.

Like a wolf who had bitten into its prey, anticipating soft flesh, only to find blazing molten steel in its mouth, the Hunter screamed, more a shriek of spirit than sound.

The world shattered.

Her mind snapped, like a rope holding too much weight, and she fell.

The horror had not passed. But it retreated. No longer ripping and tearing through her mind, it had pulled back to-

"What do you remember?"

Gleed lashed out with his staff, and the thick knob of it struck her across the forehead. "Answer me, Meyla."

She blinked through tears, which fell down her cheeks and mixed with the rain. "My name is Hweilan."

"So you say. What do you remember? And how do you remember it?"

The lights on his staff and skin blazed again, and the wet earth holding her constricted. She could feel her muscles being squeezed around her bones. The mud pulled her closer to him, so that his face was only inches from her own. In the light cast by the runes she could see that one of his eyes was a milky blur. His hot breath wafted against her face. It had an oddly bitter, spicy scent, like a very strong exotic tea.