The Master of the Hunt’s pack howled in delight and triumph as Kora’s crossbow fell from quaking hands. The ghastly monstrosities, seeing the weapon fall in submission, stopped circling, and moved in for the kill.
Kora withdrew her lute and played.
The same song she played at the Dance of the Crabs. It was fast. Rapturous. She played as loud as she could. And she danced. Wildly. Buoyantly. The dance released days of pent-up longing to express. She let it rush out of her in a torrent. The fear of death. The anger of betrayal. The loss. The loneliness. All of it.
The hounds slowed. Their ears pricked up warily. Some circled her, some paced unsure.
“I’m here! Do you hear me? I’m alive and free!” She strummed the strings frenetically, punishing them with her fervor. She leapt and twirled. She imagined the weight of days of burden flying from her body like projectiles into the trees, bushes, and hounds around her. She laughed, unabashedly, maniacally.
The pack whimpered and lowered their heads. They scratched at the ground and moaned in protest as their ears drooped and their shoulders sagged. The music sapped the energy and excitement of the kill out of them and expelled it into the ether. One of the dogs collapsed on the ground in despair and dragged away. Another two dogs pivoted around and wandered off half-heartedly after some other smell.
Topper’s bearded face emerged from the bushes, his mouth agape, as the rest of the hounds turned tail and loped back in the direction of their master. They disappeared into the darkness, leaving Kora alone in the clearing as she moved rhythmically to the strumming of her instrument.
The leprechaun pulled himself out of the bushes, dumbstruck at the turn of events.
Kora skipped and circled until she pranced around Topper, playing wildly, and he hopped aside to avoid being trampled.
“If I hadn’t seen it…”
“Dance, Topper, dance!”
And for the first time since she had met him, Topper smiled.
BAH-OOOOOOOOOOOM!
The horn blasted again. This time Kora sussed an angrier sound. Scolding. An admonishment of weakness.
The pack howled in apology, reignited by the approach of their Master.
Kora wondered whether her music would discourage the Master of the Hunt and doubt crept in. She shared a look with Topper and could tell he felt the same.
“Let’s go!” Kora called without stopping her song. She strode away with long, jouncing strides. Once a panicked fleeing, her running now surged with the buoyant power of her music.
Used to leading, Topper called to her, “Hey!”
But Kora didn’t wait. Topper considered for a moment, sighing through his options, before racing after the girl who had bowed the pack.
They ran. Another hour, maybe more. Tree after tree, rock after rock, all went by in a moonlit blur. It got to the point that Kora had a hard time remembering anything but running. Occasionally, the blast of the hunting horn echoed behind them, reinvigorating the howls of the pack, but the dogs now stayed with their Master, instead of racing ahead. And while the hunt approached, it wasn’t quite as quick as before, not since her invigorating song. She no longer blindly raced after Topper. They ran together now, with Kora picking her steps as often as Topper. He called out directions as they went, suggestions more than commands. He reminded her that the Master rode horseback, and that they should choose routes more difficult for the steed.
At some point, Kora stopped playing, but never stopped humming, resolutely keeping the energy and the optimism of her song in her as she moved. You won’t be beaten down! She screamed in her head. You’re still free! And there is hope!
Clackety-clackety-clack-clack!
The terrain turned craggy; their pace slowed by a steep descent down a wind-swept stone hill. Some of the embankment could be stumbled down on feet alone, but many areas required the use of hands to descend before finally dropping to a protrusion below. Three quarters of the way down the rocks, Kora heard the howling of the dogs above.
He appeared over the tor, silhouetted by the orange orb of The Father. The Master of the Hunt rode astride a great steed without bothering to grip any reins. Instead, he wielded his hunting horn in one hand and a long bow in the other. His hair blew in the wind, swirling around the symmetrical antlers of a stag growing from his head. The Master hooked his hunting horn to his belt and drew a shaft from his quiver with a calmness that only the very sure possess.
“Topper, down!” Kora warned as she dove behind a boulder, just in time.
Whick!
The arrow skipped off the side of the rock by her leg and disappeared with a hiss down into the dark brush below. The pack howled and yipped in appreciation of their Master’s leadership and participation. Kora peeked up to see the Master’s horse picking its way nimbly down the rocky decline. The rider was so at home, and so in command, he may as well have been a centaur. The hounds skittered down all around him, emboldened by his presence.
Kora pulled the lute from her pack. “He needs to hear me,” she whispered to Topper as she pressed herself against the boulder.
“Hell, start minstreling then!”
She played. She didn’t dance. She didn’t twirl. She simply played with all the heart and pure vigor she could muster.
The hounds yowled with discomfort and misery, calling upon the moon, or more likely their master, to somehow silence the music.
As her music echoed off the rocks around her, Kora stepped out from behind the boulder so she could see her audience, so that the Master could feel her performance.
His horse stopped and she could see the Master of the Hunt a little better now. His long black hair blew across his face, concealing his eyes. Black leather boots covered his legs to mid-thigh, and a leather cloak wrapped him in the color of dirt with fox fur trim down the front and on the shoulders. His antlers tapered flat at the ends, looking sharp as blades. He rode bareback, and his back stood tall and straight. The Master of the Hunt cocked his head to the side as if studying Kora and her lute, seeing his elusive prey for the first time.
“I am not afraid!” she shouted with pride, as she played. “I am here!”
The Master of the Hunt notched and let fly an arrow that landed with a CRACK as it split the wood of her lute. It would have struck her chest had she not pulled her instrument up instinctively.
“I see you,” she heard the Master of the Hunt intone in a basso, hollow voice that sounded as if it echoed out of an abyss, out of something only vaguely human.
“I am not afraid!” she shouted again, though the arrow through her lute made it harder to believe.
“Yes, I heard you,” he replied with a dispassionate vacancy. His horse clopped forward as he withdrew another arrow. “And so, with courage, you will be ensnared before sunup.”
Kora ducked back behind the rock. “I don’t think he’s-”
“-listening. Agreed, agreed, agreed!” Topper barked.
“That way,” she said, pointing to under the protruding boulder.
Topper peeked down. “Fak! Why stop now?”
They half leapt and half skidded down the rock face under the cover of the large boulder. The hounds snarled and barked. The hunt resumed, and the prey fled once again. Topper and Kora landed in the bottom of a narrow, rocky gorge. They raced along it’s bed as it twisted and turned, snaking through the rock. It slowed them, but at least it afforded them cover as the Master followed above. The narrow gorge finally ascended into a stretch of towering firs. To the right, a rocky crag with an overhang that concealed a dark enclosure rose above them. Good cover.
“Here,” she panted, pointing to the right.
“No. Deadly Exum in there. Not good.” Topper led her to the left, into the firs. As soon as they ran a few dozen yards, she heard the barking of the hounds fanning out ahead of them. They had raced ahead, cutting them off.
She skidded to a stop. There must be a way out, she thought. I will not quit. The horn boomed again, and the pack pounced forward, emerging from the trees.
She yanked the arrow out of her lute.
Wheeling around, she raced back the way she had come, and when she emerged from the trees she and Topper bolted for the rocky overhang. The dogs trailed only a few feet behind, frenzied by the proximity of their prey, as Kora bolted into the darkness of the recessed space in the rocks.
“Fak fak fak fak fak fak,” Topper whispered in terror as he clutched his hat.
Under the overhang, the slightest reflection of moonlight revealed the vague shape of a massive mound lying against the side of the rocks. Could a bear possibly be that gigantic? Just one of its arms dwarfed her. The head stirred groggily at the sound of the approaching pack, woken from sleep. Kora raced right to it and jammed the arrow she had pulled out of her lute deep into the beast’s flesh.
The massive Exum roared in anger and pain as its whole body shivered to life by the shock of the sting.
Kora never stopped running, and by the time the Exum had the wherewithal to lash out at her with its extended claws, she had made it out of reach. As she hoped, the incensed Exum had something else to take its wrath out on. Behind her, the pained yowls and squeals of the pack echoed as they clamored their way right into the great bear’s path. She heard both the bear and the dogs roaring in pain and anger as they set upon each other. Bones cracked. Bodies thumped against stone. Snarls transformed into death wails.
Kora emerged from the other side of the overhang, back into the purple haze of the lightening eastern sky and didn’t bother looking back.
“Will he ever give up?” Kora asked Topper as they ran. “Will he ever stop?”
“I… I don’t know.”
It wasn’t a flat out ‘no.’ It wasn’t a prediction of inevitable doom. It was doubt. For the first time, after hours of pursuit, Topper seemed unsure. She liked that. She swelled with pride. Even if it ended up being the last thing she ever felt.
“It opens up ahead! Not much room to hide,” he warned.
And indeed, after leaping down a small rock hill, the landscape flattened and cleared, making it possible for Kora to run at full speed. She pushed herself to run as fast she could, but even still, before long, she could hear the pounding of the horse’s hooves behind her.
Clackety-clackety-clack-clack!
Though the Master of the Hunt’s beat had become omnipresent for hours, now it became deafening. He had never been so close. Outracing him was impossible, not while on horseback. Don’t give up, she demanded herself. Obstinate to the very end.
The hooves thundered directly behind her, bearing down, so she dove to the side to avoid being trampled and rolled on the ground, coming to a painful stop.
The Master of the Hunt reared his steed onto its hind legs above her as if meaning to crush her, but he pulled away just in time. A move meant to cow her. Terrify her. He leveled an arrow.
“The game is mine,” he proclaimed, in that basso voice that made her guts clench in horror. He pulled the string back.
“I’m not afraid of you. You can shoot me, but I will never bow down in fear. I will never concede. Do you hear me?” She yelled it out in challenge as she pushed her chest forward.
The Master of the Hunt’s black hair swept across his stony face, caught in a pre-dawn wind. But behind the wild strands, she could swear she saw a smile creep up on one side of his mouth.
“I hear you Kora Smythe,” he replied plainly. Having this creature speak her name stunned her.
“Never has a bounty so eluded me. Never have I seen a soul best the pack. You have been a truly worthy prey. Even now, were I a lesser Folke, your empowered words might sway me. But I am an elder, girl. I am something not quite Mey, nor Autumn, and a pact has been signed. Fetch you by dawn. It is inexorable.”
It sang.
The Master of the Hunt turned his attention, ever so slightly, to the defiant song of the robin. Somewhere, emanating from the shadows of the branches of another nearby tree, an answer sang out. And another. Unmistakably, the dawn chorus rose, heralding a new day. Announcing the reincarnation of hope.
“The allotted time, it appears, has passed.” The Master of the Hunt said it plainly, without anger, or frustration, or even relief. It was simply a fact. “The requirements of the contract have been met, Kora Smythe. You are indeed one of Nemi’s children.” He lowered his bow and put the arrow back in his quiver. Wordlessly and without reins, he steered his mount around and galloped east. Before being obscured by the trees, he faded away in the light of dawn.
Topper came stumbling out from behind the trunk of a pine and doffed his cap. “I think I’m going to throw up.”
Kora collapsed on her back, drained beyond description. Her feet dripped with blood, scrapes and bruises covered every inch of her, and sitting up seemed a herculean task. She had enough energy to do one thing: smile in triumph. “I guess you’re stuck with me until the White Owl Woods.”
“Fak.”
Nemi The Fox, indeed, Kora thought. Revered for his craftiness. For his eternal ability to evade the hunt.
Don’t feel bad, Samuel Stenn. You never stood a chance.