The Herald of Autumn (Echoes of the Untold Age Book 1) (3 page)

Listening, she soon nestled against
me, sitting in the flickering light of the dying fire. Her eyes remained wide,
and she gasped and giggled in all the right places.
Her night orchid scent teased while her eyes glistened like
the full moon on a lonesome road.

I told her tale, of course, drawing
forth truths that only she knew, that she kept wound around her heart. I saw
where she had been hurt, been abandoned. I told her of all the places where her
heart had wanted, had yearned to blossom, but fear and pain had restrained her.

The story I told wasn’t factual, but
it was absolutely true.

As she listened, Molly grew drunk on
bourbon, drunk on me.

I told her the story of a wandering
gypsy who lost her voice—but the story was about Molly, her childhood dreams. I
told another of the woman who tamed the horses in the sky—her struggles with
love and hope and loss.

I made her smell colors and see
sound.

When she kissed me, dawn blossomed
after winter’s long night.

Her soft lips ached in yearning. Her
sweet kiss sang of renewal. Waves of her washed over me, her mortal fire
rekindled by the grace and glamour of one of the fey.

I traced my hands along her face and
then down her neck. Each place I touched, I kissed and whispered secrets that
no mortal-kind knew. She sighed, arched over me, and then slipped onto my lap.
Her silhouette darkened the flicker and dance of the fire.

“Timothy.” Her voice shrank, small
like a child’s. “This isn’t me. This isn’t what I—”

“I know.” My smile stayed simple, my
words true. “I know what you are, Molly. I know you guard yourself well. You
are not one to be coyed by every man who wanders in.” My lips met hers again.

She tasted apple cider and the crisp
wind at night. She murmured against me as whispers of the Hunt coursed like
lightning from my touch.

My fingers found the buttons of her
shirt, and I kissed ever lower. The scent of her intoxicated more than the
bourbon.

“Take me upstairs, Timothy.” Her
voice dipped low and primal. “Take me upstairs and tell me more.”

Delighted, I allowed my fingers to
trace their way underneath her shirt.

Molly bit her lip as I caressed her
and made her sigh.

“I will, Molly.”

Under my touch, she whimpered. She
moved her mouth to mine again and delicately nibbled at my lips.

The rest of my words were lost.

It was as it ever was. For the
briefest flash, I wasn’t alone. I wasn’t fated to ever-wander. I was home. I
was home, here with Molly, and I belonged. Everything would be well.
For that briefest of moments, precious and dear, I was home,
was wanted, was needed.

Burning in the fire of her passion,
caught in her eyes, I belonged.

As it ever was, that moment
passed.

Four hours later, while the
silver-clad moon sang and seduced her way through the window, I awoke, alert.
The fine hairs of the back of my neck bristled. My dreams had scented something
in the wind that left my heart troubled.

Molly stirred, reaching for me.

“Timothy?”

I kissed her cheek. I could still
smell our passion in the bed. Carefully, I smoothed her soft hair, shushing her
back to her dreams of September nights and October whispers.

Even as I did, my attention riveted
itself elsewhere.

I listened to the world breathe,
searching for what had awakened me. Something whispered to my heart in a lost
and raving tongue older than man.

Something is wrong. Something is
rotten.

I tasted the meaty, punky sweetness,
rancid in my mouth.

Now the hunter, I slipped out of
Molly’s huge bed. Bare feet on polished wood, I edged my way to her window
where I could see below.

There.

The shambling darkness in the silver
light resembled a nude man. It was not, but most any mortal eye would see
exactly that. Behind the seeming was the empty shambling. Dead in the eyes,
ochre-red blood seeped from its every orifice.

It felt my gaze, felt the chilled
heart of golden autumn within me.
Its
head twisted up toward me, loose, flailing. It roared, screams that echoed in a
world only I knew.

I leapt half-way across the room.
Darting to the old wooden door, I remembered the wood scraping loudly, as it
sagged against the floor. Molly must not be allowed to wake just now.

Quiet now, Old Pine.
Sleep
. Gently I moved it,
silently hoping that I wasn’t invoking a boon for such a small kindness. One
never knew with my kind.

As the door swung in silence, I
murmured of gratitude, taking care to never actually say “thank you” or imply a
debt.

In four long, graceful jumps, I
bolted down the darkened stairs and past the room where most guests stayed.
Less than a breath later, I cast about her kitchen for a weapon. Yes, I could
call my bow, but I didn’t know if this was worth that risk—not yet.

Her knife block held two large
blades, but unlike the brackets on the bar, the metal stung with cold. Dead.
They would never do.

Fine. No weapon. For now. That was
fine.

Typically, once I needed a weapon,
drawing my bow had become worth the risk.

I peered through the front window.

The creature jerked forward like a
broken marionette. I couldn’t say how it was tracking me, how it felt me—but it
did. It sought me with those empty, hungry, lost eyes.

It would come for me. It would tear
through the inn and anything else to get to me.

Her sweetness lingered on my face and
hands, traces that made my heart ache, wanting her. It would drink Molly’s sweetness…

That thought pounded a cold-iron
spike through my chest. I had to act, armed or no.

For this brief interlude in time, she
belonged to me. This broken darkness could not have her.

That I would not abide.

I unlatched the door and leapt into
the misty gloaming.

It appeared as a man, an older man
with sallow cheeks, blue eyes, and white hair. He was nude, overweight, and
pale.

To my dreaming eye, it was a fetch. I
hadn’t seen one in many an autumn, but I was fairly certain. Such abominations
mimicked humanity but held none of the poetry that hid within every human’s
heart.

Its broken, hollow, mad screech raged
in lapping fire and rusted blood.

Its fingers ended in talons from
another age.

Its arms, slender gangles, each had
two elbows.

Its empty eyes wept blood and bile.

Its fetid breath was like a physical
thing, a miasma of rot and despair.

When it swiped at me, its spidery
arms wild, I ducked one swing and dodged the other, wind whistling by my face.
As it drew close, I felt some whisper of darkness touch my mind.

There is a boy, just a boy, yet the
boy is a wielder of darkness dire. He summons flames that live, white flames
that whisper and sing
—

I lurched away from the creature, and
the dream withdrew from my mind.

What had
that
been?

It made a strange cackling noise,
dragging terror up from my gullet.

I forced myself to slow down, to
think.

Even if I could kill the creature,
those who lived here must never know the truth. This poor soul had been
devoured, likely some time ago. The hollow fetch was his only reality now, and
it was broken and mad. Killing it—

It shambled forward, quick-quick.

I stepped away just in time,
struggling to think so soon after my awakening.

Killing it would only leave a corpse,
one all-too familiar to those living here. The first day of autumn would bring
a dead body while a strange out-of-towner stayed at Molly’s. That was too
coincidental for the children of men.

It lurched toward me again, quicker
than I anticipated. A whistling swing struck me this time but barely. One of
those strange talons left a path of stinging beads across my cheek.

I had to lure it far from Molly, out
somewhere in the yellow wood, my only option. If I somehow destroyed it there,
I might have a few days before it was found.

No weapon. No plan. No clothing.

Staying just out of the creature’s
reach, I led it to the center of the street.

Hungering for my glamour, it issued a
strange sucking noise as it ambled after me.

Good. It definitely wanted me. If my
luck held, it had starved for glamour for so long that I made an irresistible
lure.

I tasted cold fear. The creature was
so much faster than I had thought, while I was still a touch stone-footed. The
first golden dawn of autumn hadn’t come yet, after all. I wouldn’t yet be fully
myself for days still. I swallowed my fear and led it onward.

The creature roared again, that
strange sound vibrating only in the world behind the world. As it lunged, I
spun on one bare foot and leapt. I slipped slightly in the sand on the asphalt
lane but landed true. I had no time to waste with the shamble-thing.
Carelessness would be fatal. Racing to the trees, I poured every whisper of
myself into running, as if the Hunter himself chased me.

Perhaps he was. Hollow emptiness
followed me on legs of sinew and shadow.

So it was, once again, I was naked in
that yellow autumn wood. Dappled shadows danced across my body as I ran; silver
shifting with shrouded darkness. Underneath my feet, the earth remained cool
and smooth. Never did I step upon a thorn or snag on a root. I was a hunter,
and the ground gave way before me.

Despite my fear, I forced myself to
slow enough to allow the empty thing to keep pace with me. I had seen how quick
it could be, but when chasing me, it moved in more of an uneven, relentless
lope. If I had truly been fleeing the thing, I probably could have been far and
away. However, caution paid double. I was not yet as quick-footed as I would be
only weeks hence, but I found myself all too easily forgetting I had awakened
early.

I ran through the forest. Like
casting stones into a still pond, every step I took rippled with summer’s
passing. I saw a raccoon duck behind an old log and knew that some part of its
dreaming mind had shifted. Autumn was coming; the time for sleep would be soon.
An owl, on the other hand, was intent on my passing, her eyes singing with the
moon. Such birds of prey often ghosted behind the Great Hunt. She leapt to the
sky as I passed, a whisper through the trees. The wind sighed as I ran, and the
owl shadowed me in the night.

It might not yet be dawn, but the
Herald of Autumn walked the land.

I usually enjoyed feeling the change
overtaking the animals of the forest, but tonight it offered no pleasure. I
could still hear the fetch, feel its screams echoing through me. I needed to
remain focused. Even though I ran from it, I remained the hunter. I just had to
figure out how to take the creature.

I couldn’t say how long or how far I
had run; every thought and every step led the shadowed thing away from Mount
Chase. I had a sizeable lead now, although I could still hear it behind me,
still feel it cast its shadowed pall across the wood.

Beginning to wonder how far I would
run, I felt the whisper of a Dreaming.

Go back.
It struck me square in the face. Less
words than feelings, I realized I had left something precious behind, something
I might lose for all time.

The Dreaming spun an eldritch web of
silver gossamer thrown around my heart. Woven from longing for the ordinary
solace found in the safety of home, the net cast a powerful desire for the
warmth I had never known, not for long, anyway. I slowed, letting it surge
through my mind, over the untended places in my heart.

It spoke of tranquil sunlight, sweet
whispers in my ear.

Cry off. Molly is waiting. Molly and
warmth.

Wait a moment. This Dreaming had to
be coming from something, some talis hidden in the area. I tuned out the
undulating calls of the fetch, slowly casting about my eyes.

I, of course, scanned for what was
not there, for places where my eyes would slide away.

No. Nothing. Simply detritus of the
forest floor.

The whispers grew urgent, pleading.

Leave. She awaits you yet. She is
probably awake now, awake and feeling you gone. She yearns, Tommy.

I shook my head, trying to focus.
Wasn’t there—?

You always leave, Tommy. You don’t
have to, though. It can be different. You can have a home
—

There.

Close to the ground, to my left, my
gaze slipped over where nothing appeared to be. My eyes jumped, my focus
shifted about two steps.

Something was there.

As I got closer, its whispers came
fiercer.

Aren’t you tired, Tommy? Tired of
always being alone? You have no true friends, nothing like family. You can have
that, all that, if you simply return to her. You don’t have to abandon her, to
break her heart and let her fade
—

My hand found what my eyes could not,
a talis, a Dreaming fetish entwined with the living warmth of a woman, the
smell of baking bread, the laughter of a child. As soon as I grasped it, all
became clear. I could see a small pouch of leather and sinew tied to a sapling.
When I broke the cord, the whispering immediately stopped.

Now, who had the glam for a toy such
as this? More than a fetish, it was the perfect snare to use against me, a
wanderer who knew no home.

The screeching roar behind me
resonated with the crunch and grind of chewing glass shards.

My thoughts scattered and broke as
the emaciated horror tore its way into the clearing, ripping a small ash from
the earth as it did so. Here, in the moonlight, its true form was the
monstrosity. The man became a faint shadow, somehow existing within and behind
the creature.

Its keening cry grew louder, more
real. When I turned to flee, it hurled the uprooted ash at me with strength I
could scarcely believe.

Stunned, I blinked up from the
ground.

Strange, darkling dreams reached into
my mind.

They seem human but are not. Behind
their guise, they are monstrous creatures, alien to behold. Yet the city is in
their grasp, the people little more than playthings
—

I wrenched my head, pulling it away
from the image that clung like tar in my mind.

The keening cry came again, and it
lumbered close, seeming certain. I could smell the blight on its breath as it
leaned in, as it had in Mount Chase before I fled.

It breathed in, a wet, hollow,
drawing sound. From some lost passage in my heart, despair whimpered softly.

And then, pain.

Art, memory, and glamour tore its way
from my mouth and nose, drawn by the abominations’ sucking breath. It tasted my
golden autumn, maple sweetness. It tasted the Hunt and stories around a blazing
fire. It tasted one thousand nights and one thousand beginnings.

It dragged memory itself from my
deepest well, clawing and screaming as it was taken. Parts of me, so inherent
that I couldn’t imagine being without them, somehow were drank from the vaults
of my mind and heart.

That day I lost baubles, forgotten
stories that hadn’t been told since my kind first came to these western lands.
It took the names of women loved and the glories of battle and the Hunt.

Lost.