Awakenings

The slope was even steeper than she’d realized when she started her ascent and the old wooden slats driven into the slope to provide better traction were slick with mud and wet. Her boots slipped against them, more than once almost toppling backwards and taking out Gray and the two members of the Wild Hunt that were coming up the slope behind him. The member of the Hunt in front of her kept glancing back, looking surprised at the difficulties she seemed to be experiencing.

“They are waiting,” he said quietly.

Aoife almost cursed out loud as her boot slipped again. Calm down, damn you, she thought. You’re on edge and snapping at them isn’t going to do anyone any good. Just take a deep breath and take this one step at a time.

Hopefully it’s not like this the entire way to where he is.

She sucked in a deep breath, put her head down, and trudged on.

After what felt like forever, they finally reached the top of the slope. Aoife’s calves burned and her thighs ached from the climb, and looking back down toward the river, she realized why.

That was a dangerous climb. Nasty angle.

Gray caught her hand in his and squeezed her fingers. She shivered and shot him a weak smile.

“You okay?” he murmured.

“Are you?” she countered. He smiled.

“We’ll see in a little bit.”

“This way,” one of their escorts said curtly, starting down a narrow trail discernable from the rest of the woods that surrounded them only by the bootprints in the muddy snow—probably from when the men escorting them had come down to the river in the first place.

Gray squeezed her hand again. “I’ll go first,” he murmured, then let go, setting off after the lead escort. Aoife hurried to follow him, fingers wrapping tightly around the straps of her backpack. This part of the trail was much easier to traverse, but she could see another slope rising above them as they worked their way deeper into a system of ravines.

“Is it far?” she asked their escorts. One of them chuckled softly.

“Not too far but not too close, either.”

Aoife wasn’t sure what to make of that as they crossed a small creek. She couldn’t see the river anymore.

Where are they taking us?

                To your brother. That’s where. Her jaw tightened. At least they’d better be or there’ll be hell to pay.

“Who are they?” Gray murmured as they gathered their packs in preparation to climb out of the boat and onto the weathered but solid dock alongside the river. An old shack perched near the river’s edge, the fading paint showing a set of crossed oars and the name of a place—this place, unless Aoife missed her guess.

Men stood on the dock, armed with swords and spears and truncheons, but two carried shotguns while a third perched on the roof of the shack, a bow in his hands. Aoife took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, keeping her voice soft enough to hopefully not be overheard.

“I think they’re the Wild Hunt.”

“The Wild Hunt,” Gray echoed, a faint note of incredulity to his voice. “As in the Wild Hunt. Harbingers of doom. Fae and dead men who can’t find their rest doomed to ride for all eternity.”

She winced. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”

“Really.”

“Yes,” she said, twisting to face him. “It is. I’ll explain later if I have to, but right now—”

Gray sighed. “I know. Your brother.”

Aoife nodded firmly before turning and haling herself unassisted up onto the dock. Gray handed their packs up to her before pulling himself onto the docks.

Their welcoming committee watched them in silence, their weapons casually ready, is if the stance was as natural as breathing.

Aoife’s jaw tightened. If they are the Wild Hunt, then being ready to use those weapons is second nature to every single one of them.

If they really were the Wild Hunt, though, why were they here of all places?

Unless…

“Déithe agus arrachtaigh,” she breathed. She seized the arm of the nearest of them. His brethren tensed, but the man just looked at Aoife, brow arching over one dark eye in eloquent, silent question.

“Seamus the Black,” she said, throat tight, as if her question was trying to strangle her. “Is he alive?”

The man stared at her for a long moment before he gently removed her hand from his arm.

“That question will be answered at the Wanderer’s discretion.”

Her heart gave a strange double-beat, her nerves jangling.

What did we just walk into? Why are they here? How does—why would—

Gray’s hand found hers and squeezed.

“It’ll be okay,” he whispered. “I promise.”

“That’s my line,” she said softly. Then she smiled. “Thanks, Gray.”

He kissed her cheek. “Anytime.”

One of the men cleared his throat and nodded to a narrow trackway up the side of a steep slope.

“This way.”

Steeling herself, Aoife shouldered her pack, took a deep breath, and started to climb.

Silence answered her call. Aoife held her breath, she and Gray both staring at the trees, looking out for any sign of movement, any hint of life.”

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Gray murmured, gaze slanting toward her for a bare moment. Aoife grimaced, hands tightening around the tiller.

I really wish I didn’t.

“Just hold here,” she said quietly. “Don’t try to run. Hold position.”

The only sounds they heard were the birds and the water and the faint whisper of the wind through the branches above them. Aoife chewed her lip, leaving it to Gray to keep them in place. He seemed disinclined to drop their anchor, instead quietly manipulating their sails to keep them in one spot.

“I don’t like it,” he said. “This feels wrong, Aoife. I think we should go.”

“Just a few more minutes,” she said, eyes still searching the winter woods, clogged with brush along the river’s bank. “Just give it a few more minutes. They might have sent someone.”

“Or they may be getting ready to attack us.”

Aoife gave him a sharp look and Gray sighed quietly.

“You’re the one who told me that your brother has a bad habit of making enemies, Aoife. I’m just pointing out that maybe we’ve run into a situation where he’s made some here and they’re organizing to cut us down where we stand.”

She shook her head hard. “No. No, I can’t believe that’s the case. The sense of him is much too close, Gray. This has to be the right place. I know it is—it must be.”

Please. Please, I can’t have gambled wrong.

Something rustled in the brush along the shore. Both of them held their breath. A slim, dark-haired man eased into view, leaves and other natural debris clinging to his sweater, mud staining his boots and his drab pants.

“There’s a landing further on,” he called, pointing. “Moor your boat there and come ashore. We’ll bring you to the Wanderer but be forewarned. Should you be lying, should you mean him ill, you’ll die where you stand faster than you can blink.”

Aoife and Gray exchanged a look. His lips thinned. She nodded.

“Do as he says, Gray,” she whispered.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Gray turned to his task. Aoife, shaking in relief, slowly knelt down in the bottom of the boat.

She had no doubt the man had meant the threat he’d voiced. That didn’t matter.

Phelan must have been here—and they would be together again soon.

The trees were thick along the river as the wind carried them further along, drifting under sail closer and closer to the lake. Aoife held the tiller as Gray kept an eye on the sails, adjusting them as needed to keep them moving forward. Both were quiet for a time, Gray’s expression suggesting that his thoughts were elsewhere even as he tended the sails. Aoife watched him, lips thinning.

What are you sensing out there, Gray? What danger do you feel coming? There was a heaviness to the world, one that left her slightly uncomfortable, though not enough to make her say something about it.

Part of her reason for keeping her mouth shut about it, though, was the thought that it was perhaps just all in her head, something born of worry and paranoia, not a child of reality.

I hope it’s just a figment of my imagination.

A whistle split the air, jerking her from her thoughts and startling Gray from his. “What was that?”

“Sentries, maybe?” Gray turned his gaze to the shore, to the old trees, a mix of pines and bare-branched deciduous trees. “Someone keeping watch for intruders?”

“Bloody hell, if they think we’re intruders—”

“We’d better hope that your brother shows up and fast.”

Aoife sucked in a sharp breath. “Assuming this is the right place.”

“You said we were close.”

“I did,” she admitted, fingers tightening on the tiller. “I also said I can’t tell exactly where we need to be, though. That was based on Teca’s scrying and she’s not here, is she?”

Gray winced.

Another whistle echoed through the trees, followed by another, then a third.

“Whoever’s up there knows we’re here,” Gray said with a grimace. “I’d kill for a working engine right about now.”

“What, so we can run?”

Gray smiled weakly. “If we have to.”

Aoife shivered. “Let’s hope we don’t have to.” She took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly.

It’s a gamble, but it’s also a chance you have to take.

She raised her voice. “Tell Phelan O’Credne that Aoife’s come to find him!”

They slept for another few hours, until the sun rose in the east, peeking through bare trees. Aoife woke first, sitting up slowly and ruffling Gray’s hair before she abandoned their blankets and started to roll back the tarp they’d sheltered under during the previous day’s storm. Gray grumbled softly, cracking an eye open and watching her work.

“Is it really morning?”

She laughed. “The sun says it is, anyway. Are you awake?”

“My body says I am, but my eyes and my head want to go back to sleep.” Gray stretched, squeezing his eyes shut as he yawned. “Any insight on how far it is to get to your brother?”

“He’s close,” Aoife said, then shrugged. She couldn’t be very precise—her ability to sense her family wasn’t an exact science. She knew they were close, knew which direction to go in, but beyond that, she didn’t have much help to offer. “The feeling of him is pretty strong.”

“That’s good, right?” Gray started getting ready to rig up the sails. The breeze was relatively light, though there were occasional increases that promised a stiff wind was coming soon enough. “You were worried about him when we started all of this.”

“I’ve been worried about him non-stop since I felt something stab him months ago,” Aoife admitted softly. “The fact that I can feel him strongly and the fact that we’re closer…that doesn’t stop me from worrying.”

Gray slid his arm around her waist and held her for a moment. Aoife sighed softly, resting her head against his shoulder.

“Thank you for coming with me,” she whispered. “Thank you for not letting me convince you to let me go alone.”

“There was never a possibility that I’d have let you leave without me,” Gray told her, then kissed the top of her head. “You’re stuck with me.”

“And glad of it,” Aoife said, grinning as she reached for the rigging. “Come on. Let’s get this sail up.”

Home is where family is, and I’m nearly home.

Aoife peeked out from under the tarp they’d battened down, warily eyeing their surroundings. The way their boat bobbed suggested that it had broken free of its mooring at the river’s edge and probably drifted downriver during the storm. Gray snored softly beside her, sprawled on the deck of the tiny sailboat they’d mostly paddled along rivers and through half-frozen lakes to get his far.

The storm that had caused them to stop and tether themselves to a likely tree root near the edge of the river had passed. Aoife could hear birds somewhere nearby, a welcome sound if she’d ever heard one. There hadn’t been any birds in months, not since winter had sunk its claws into the world. Maybe it was finally her season—maybe spring had finally come.

She moved the tarp and crawled out. It smelled like rain and the river and the melting snow and the sky was clear, full of stars above even as dawn nibbled at the edge of the horizon. She tugged her jacket a little closer around her body and exhaled, watching her breath steam in the starlight.

If not for the modern boat and the clothing, it might have been a thousand or more years ago, long ago and far away.

Gray stirred behind her, resting his hand against the small of her back. “We’re adrift,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

Aoife nodded. “Yeah. I don’t think we’ve too far from where we were, though. Go back to sleep.”

“Just hope there’s not any rapids or anything like we had to portage back there.” Gray groaned and stretched, then quieted. “I don’t think my back’s ever going to forgive me for that.”

Aoife smiled at him. “Your back is never going to forgive you for sleeping in that position, either.”

“Also true.” He lifted their shared blanket. “Come back. It looks clear, right?”

“Yeah.” She exhaled. “And we’re close. When the sun rises, we should put the sails up. Try our luck.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m not sure of anything anymore,” Aoife said as she tucked herself against him. “But what else do we have?”

“A valid point.” Gray kissed her temple and wrapped the blanket around them both. “I hope you’re right. I’d like to meet your brother.”

“You say that now,” Aoife said with a wry smile. “We’ll see if you say it again after you meet him.”

“That bad?”

“He’s my brother.”

Gray chuckled softly. Aoife rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes.

It would be good to see Phelan again—and soon.