Demon Hunts (28 page)

The stars only came clear near the edges of the world, cold moonlight swallowing them closer in. There were no city lights visible anywhere, no touch of humanity, and the snow-brisk wind smelled faintly of astringent sap. It seemed very possible that Coyote and I were the first, the only, human beings to have ever set foot on this particular bit of earth; that we had been brought somewhere utterly unspoiled so that someone might have a chance to marvel at its wonder. I said, “It's okay,” as softly as I could, not wanting to disturb the quiet.

Coyote made an incredulous noise at the back of his throat, but I caught his hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “Really. It's all right.” My breath fogged on the air, wisps drifting away, and, smiling, I brushed my fingers through that faint mark of my presence. “Normally I'd say we were in trouble, because we don't belong here, but this time I think we've been invited.”

“Invited? Invited by—”

I raised my mittened fingers to my lips, the gesture meant to shush my mentor. “Invited by him.”

I nodded into the woods, and was unsurprised when a god melted free of the trees and came to join us.

He was a woodland creature made of gnarled barky skin and dark tangling hair of knots and branches. His features were rough, little more than the impression of a face in a tree trunk, but his eyes were as I remembered them: brilliant emerald-green, like his father's before him. He said, “
Siobhán Walkingstick,
” and extended a thin-branched hand the way a human might, the gesture all the more alien for its familiarity.

“Herne.” I took his hand, breathless with delight and surprised by that. “It's good to see you.”

Amusement was a rare expression on a tree, but he wore it well. “Is it?” His voice was wind and rain on leaves, deep sound of eternity. “I think last time we met it was not so welcome.”

“I was different then. You were different.” The understatement forced a laugh from my throat. “Right. Hey, Coyote, I'd like you to meet the Green Man, Herne. He's, ah. Um.” I
stopped talking, because my mentor was trembling, with tears spilling down his cheeks.

“Spirit of the forest,” he whispered, and dropped to his knees in the snow. “Soul of the world.”

I don't know who was more appalled, me or Herne. Me, apparently, because Herne managed a kind chuckle, and put his leafy-fingered hands beneath Coyote's to draw him up. “Spirit of the forest,” he agreed. “But I would not take on the burden of soul of the world, not for any reward you might offer. And I know something of rewards, and causes lost. There is an evil in the forest, shaman.”

He hadn't taken his gaze off Coyote, but I knew he was talking to me. I said, “Only one?” under my breath.

He let go Coyote's hands with the sound of branches snapping, and turned my way with sorrow etched into his craggy visage. “Many, but most are the works of man, and for now can only be fought by other men. This is an older hurt than those, and needs an older touch.”

“Older—” I seized on that, hoping it was profound intelligence regarding the thing we were facing, but optimism died a-borning. If I was the “older” solution, then he meant mystical, not ancient. I didn't qualify as old except by the standards of anyone under the age of eighteen. “Right. Older. I never heard anybody call magic ‘old' before.”

“Is it not easier in your day and age to follow the old ways rather than express it in laughable terms of magic and might?”

Just what I needed. A woodlands god telling me how to euphemize my way around the difficult topic of my talents. I stared at Herne a moment, then smiled. It
was
just what I needed, in fact. I could tell Laurie Corvallis I was following the old ways and she could sit and spin for months trying to
figure that one out. It was perfect. “It is. It's a lot easier. I'll remember that. Thanks. When did you get so wise?”

What I really wanted to ask was when he'd gotten pompous, because he hadn't talked like this last time we'd met, but I figured I already knew the answer. Being a god automatically pomped a guy. Besides, there was something useful about the airs and high-minded speech patterns: they helped remind me I was dealing with something a long way from mortal.

As if him being a walking, talking tree wasn't reminder enough. Herne gave his odd gentle chuckle again, and shrugged rough shoulders that shed flakes of bark onto the snow. “At the same time, perhaps, that you became comfortable walking the old paths.”

“Comfortable? I don't know that I'm ever going to be comf—oh.” So maybe he wasn't so wise after all. I dipped a grin at my snow-shod feet, then looked up again. Kevin Sadler had been shorter than me, or at least, he'd come across that way. Herne seemed to be rather a lot taller, sort of oaklike in stature, except somehow he was compressed down to a less alarming size. I thought if I turned the Sight on him, he would overflow my vision as both his father and daughter had done. “Suzanne's doing well, by the way.”

Pain blackened his face. “I'm pleased. Tell her, if the time is ever right, that I am sorry.”

“I will.” I fell silent, entirely at a loss as to how to proceed, then turned my palms up. “Why did you bring us here?”

“The demon hunts in my forests and leaves scars of wrongful death behind, holes in the fabric of life. It cannot be fought easily, not even with the magic and myth you command. To do battle with this demon requires strength bound to the earth and yet so flexible it can reach for the sky.”

“Bound to the…I hope that's a really poetic way of describing a shaman, Herne, or we're screwed. All I've got is a pocketful of attitude. My sword's not even useful.”

He blinked at me, slowly. “Swords are forged, Siobhán, not grown, and will do you no good. But here: at the least, I would have the beast drawn to where its only prey are those who might successfully stand against it.”

I breathed a laugh. “At the least. Thanks.” I reconsidered my tone and said, “Well, no, really, thanks. I mean that. But you know you left our friends out there to get eaten, right? Can you bring them here?”

He tilted his head, fey motion that made him look more animalistic. “Some are closer than others, and none are as attuned to the old ways as you. It will take time.”

“Better that than letting them wander around while the wendigo's hunting. I don't even know how we're going to find our way back when this is over.” I liked how I said that, making the assumption that it would be
we
who were returning, and not
it.

“The forest will guide you.” Herne moved back, and I took a hasty few steps after him, tripping over my own snowshoes.

“Hey. Hey, wait a second.” I glanced at Coyote, but he stood rooted where he was, his hands knotted around the bits of branch Herne had left behind. That was okay, as I wanted a private conversation. I dropped my voice to murmur, “You're doing better, huh? The last time I saw you…”

“I was wounded.” Gods, it seemed, had a gift for deprecation. Technically the last time I'd seen him he'd been dead, although that was only a mortal shackle he'd left behind. “I am still not well, Siobhán Walkingstick, not as well as I might be. Should the day ever come when I gain full
strength, it may not be man who must fight man to set the forests aright.”

“I look forward to it.” I did, too, in a perverse kind of Jimmy-crack-corn way. “Is there anything I can do?”

A smile creased his woody features. “I think you, too, are ‘doing better,' shaman. Rid this forest of its demon and you will have done enough.”

A zing of doubt turned my lungs cold, even in comparison to the icy air. “Really?”

Silence drew out long enough that I became aware I couldn't even hear Coyote breathing. I was alone in the quiet of the woods, with its god standing over me to make judgment. “No,” he finally said. “No. Our slate may not be yet wiped clean. We shall see, Siobhán. We shall see.”

I nodded, and Herne afforded me a nod of his own, deep enough to almost be a bow. I returned the honor, and when I straightened he was gone.

Only then did I realize that, like the wendigo, he had left no tracks in the snow.

 

“Joanne.” There was a strained note to Coyote's voice, and I figured he'd noticed the same thing I had about the tracks. I turned around, searching for some kind of reassurance, and swallowed anything I had to say.

Instead of the bits of broken branch he'd had, Coyote held a spear half again his own height in his hands. It was made of a white branch stripped of bark and polished, though knots and whorls marked its surface, so the haft wasn't a straight smooth shaft like I thought of spears as having. Its head was black wood, so dark and shining that moonlight reflected off it like metal. A feathered leather strip bound haft and head, but
I was quite certain that if the leather was taken away there would be a seamless transformation from the white wood to the black.

I, Joanne Walker, master of the obvious, said, “Holy crap, you've got a spear! Where'd that come from?”

From Herne, obviously, but not even Coyote's expression managed to say that much. He just shook his head, then wordlessly extended the weapon to me.

I actually backed up a few steps. “No way. He didn't give it to me.”

He gave the spear a couple of shakes and came toward me, obviously trying to get rid of it. I tucked my hands behind my back. “When gods give you gifts, Coyote, you do not go around handing them off to the nearest sucker you can find.” A lightbulb went off, and I almost ran forward to seize the spear regardless of what I'd just said. “Bound to the earth and able to reach for the sky. Trees. Duh. That thing's meant to fight the wendigo with, and he gave it to you.”

“But this isn't what I do! I don't—I don't fight! I don't even know how to use this!”

“I think traditionally you stick the bad guy with the pointy end. My path's changed, Ro. Maybe yours is changing, too.”

I swear to God, you'd think I'd said
maybe your grandmother has recently contracted syphilis
from the way he glared at me.

“Donno about his,” Gary said from out of nowhere, “but ours sure as hell did. Where are we, doll? How'd we get here?” He broke through the trees a dozen yards away, and I lifted my hands with a squeak.

“Stop! Wait! We have all this unbroken snow, we should use it!”

Gary froze with Sara a step behind him, both of them wide
eyed as startled deer. I said, “Herne brought you here to keep you safe from the wendigo,” like it was a perfectly normal explanation. The funny thing was Gary's eyes lit up and he went
ah
like it was, in fact, a perfectly normal explanation. Sara didn't look so understanding, but nor did she push it, for which I would thank her later. For the nonce I pointed imperiously in opposite directions. “Both of you go that way. Make a circle. But take a jump forward so your footsteps don't run into it.”

There was a small kerfuffle while they got who was going which way sorted out, but peculiarly, they did as I ordered without asking why. I eyeballed the handful of steps Coyote and I had taken, then tromped a circumference slightly larger than that around them. “Mash everything inside this down, will you?”

Coyote eyeballed me, but did as I asked while I turned around, trying to get my bearings. I had no sense of direction; Rainier was off to my left, but that didn't mean anything, particularly under a sky too bright with moonshine to show me the North Star. After a second I stopped looking with my eyes and reached out with the Sight, trying to get the same sense of place in the Middle World that I could achieve in the Lower.

The earth itself gave a confident thump when I settled on true north. I said, “Thanks,” out loud, and struck off that way, making a thick spoke in the snow. “Only walk inside these, okay, guys? I want the rest of it pristine.”

Sara, more than forty feet away, muttered, “She's nuts. She's completely bonkers,” and the snow carried it to me clear as day.

Carried it to Gary, too, who said, “Nah, she knows what she's doing,” which heartened me more than I could've imagined. I marched back the other way, extending the line south, then ran around behind Sara to the most westerly point so I could make a cross-path to the east. I was sweating and
panting by the time I was done, and everybody else was sitting in the middle admiring Coyote's spear. My eyebrows waggled entirely of their own volition, and I rejoined them, trying not to giggle.

Coyote looked up at me, eyes gold in the moonlight. “Is this circle meant to keep things in, or out?”

I swallowed the temptation to give him the same answer Melinda'd given me, and said, “Some of both,” instead as I trod a little path at the outer edge of the inner circle. It was about ten feet across, plenty big for the four of us, and the snow was well-packed. I took my snowshoes off and stomped a smaller cross like the one I'd just beaten into the unbroken snow, only with the spokes at the lesser cardinal points. My footprints were deep, dark blue shadows—imperfect, but pretty. “Everybody, and when I say everybody I mean you, Sara, and then Gary and then Coyote, in that order, stay inside this circle. This is going to be the keep-things-out circle.”

Sara, sounding very much like a petulant teen, said, “Why me most of all?” but also blew the question off with a raspberry, which I translated loosely as
because I'm not a magical fruit-cake and the rest of you are.

“The larger one will be the keep-things-in circle.” I slipped mostly free of my body, letting my astral form rise up above the snow so I could see my circle's shape.

It was surprisingly—no, strike that—
unbelievably
perfect. I'd known I was keeping to straight lines with my spokes, but I had the advantage of following the earth's magnetic fields when I was doing that. Gary and Sara were just winging it, but they'd done an incredible job. There were tiny wavers in the circle's outer edges, but no obvious bulges or indentations. It felt strong and ready to accept whatever power I poured into it.

I dropped back into my body to beam foolishly at Gary and Sara. “You guys are amazing. The circle's amazing. Thank you. Okay. I've never really done this before….”

The truth was I'd never done it at all. Melinda's promise to teach me how to open a power circle loomed large, and I wished to high heaven that we'd had time to do that. That we'd made time to do it. I'd gone home and gone to bed two days ago when I could've gone back to her house to learn. That hadn't seemed like an oversight at the time, but it left me with a thimbleful of experience where I needed a vat-full. Accidentally reactivating Mel's power circle with Raven's help wasn't exactly in the same league as what I was about to try.

I knelt where I was, tugging my mittens off to place bare hands against the snow. It was very cold, almost ice, and despite having been mashed down, sharp edges poked my palms. I resisted the urge to stuff my hands into my armpits to warm them up, and instead reached inside myself, eyes closed as I whispered to my power.