The conversation twists, transforming into something far more threatening. The air ripens with simmering frustrations and hostility at our intrusion into this place. Lugh senses it; he leans forward toward Boros, a movement that makes Liath’s ears flick as he waits for the next command.
“Truly, a wise decision,” Lugh agrees calmly. “I am sorry for your troubles. I have seen the suffering in your lands and will not burden you or your people in such a time. Thank you for your honesty. And know, I will not hesitate to tell the thegn of your people’s need.”
That draws an angry flush to Boros’s cheeks. He clamps his jaw and bows his head again. “Thank you, seidhr,” he says, without any gratitude in his voice. “Safe travels.”
The crowd parts for us with deliberate slowness. Lugh leads us out of the village at a sedate pace. He doesn’t glance back once, doesn’t show any sign of his unease, and we follow his example. The gates close behind us, a clear warning to not return.
Armel waits until we’re back at the base of the hill to ask, “Where to now, seidhr?”
“Onwards, I suppose,” Lugh says. “We can try our luck at the next village.”
Armel nods and starts to pull out our map. He—and the rest of us—are surprised when Lugh points a finger toward the forest. “Let’s cut through there,” he announces. “That should prevent us from having to backtrack for so long, right?”
Armel checks the map. He makes a face, but offers Lugh a shrug. “If that’s what you want, seidhr.”
“It is,” Lugh says. “I’m curious to see what’s there.”
“Did you not find what you were looking for in the village?” I ask as we pick our way across an overworked field toward the first line of trees.
“No,” he replies.
The forest waits for us, a dark smudge against the landscape, and I hold my breath when we pass the first row of trees. Our horses seem displeased by our choice of route. I can’t blame them. The few game trails snaking their way into the forest look old. I doubt they’ll all be clear.
“Keir,” Lugh says at last. He’s dropped his glamour and watches the trees with a strange focus. “Would you lead?”
Rather than answer, I give Dubh his head, letting him choose the circuitous route he wants to take, with only minor corrections to keep us in a rough parallel to my memory of the village walls. It’s slow going, either from my own discomfort or from Dubh’s, and the rest of the Hunt follows with unusual quietude.
We pass through a dense stand of trees. To both sides, there’s nothing but tightly pressed trunks. The only opening I can see in the line is before us. If I get off Dubh’s back, I bet he’ll be able to sneak through, though it’ll be tight. He shakes his head when I dismount. “Give me a moment,” I warn Lugh before returning my attention to my horse.
I pat his neck until he calms down, then take the reins in hand and cautiously make my way through the gap. He sets himself against me for a moment before giving in and following. Stepping through is like stepping into a winter’s day. The shock of bitterly cold air biting into my lungs and skin leaves me gasping, and I’m so lost in the distraction I misstep. Dubh whinnies when I slip on a patch of moss and lose my grip on his reins.
For a muddled moment, I see the canopy overhead. Reality comes crashing down when I do. The fall is softer than I deserve, but my head still rings from its blow against the ground. I groan and shut my eyes tightly while taking quick stock. Nothing broken, nothing truly damaged except my pride.
“Keir?” Lugh’s voice is too tight, too edged with worry. “Keir, are you okay? Dammit, Cybel, take Liath for a moment—”
Dubh’s velvety nose brushes my temple. It’s the lone source of warmth in this frigid place. He nudges me again, his whiskers tickling my eyelashes, a clear order for me to get up. When I open my eyes, his concern over my foolish behavior is obvious.
“I?
?m fine, thanks,” I grumble and scramble back up. Thank the gods Lugh hasn’t made his way through the gap in the trees yet. I can still salvage this. A quick check confirms my cloak escaped any new tears, so I settle it more firmly around me. The cold hasn’t abated, though no steam curls from Dubh’s exhalations. Or mine, for that matter.
I snag hold of Dubh’s dangling reins and turn to look for our path. Instead, the wide stone ahead catches my eye and the world drops out from under me.
A set of heavy, rough ropes wrapped around the dead fae’s wrists are tied off to the nearby trunks, keeping him lashed down to the makeshift altar, a gaunt corpse abused by the elements. His back is split open, cracked like a walnut shell, and the jagged, bleached white tips of his ribs stretch out like a pair of grisly wings.
“Lugh,” I call hoarsely.
I want to flee, to climb on Dubh’s back and race away from this place, but the cold’s grown so intense my muscles cramp and leave me unable to look away. The lesser details make themselves known: the fine weave of the man’s breeches, the delicately wrought golden mask obscuring his face, and the unnatural pallidness of his skin, as if he were bled dry, though no blood stains the stone.
This isn’t the kind of sacrifice I heard about during the late-night recitations of my childhood. This death does nothing to venerate the gods. There is no sign of appreciation for this sacrifice, no reverence shown the corpse after its purpose has been served. This is a provocation, a challenge against all natural law, and the evil of such an act has soaked into the very ground beneath my feet. It festers and poisons everything around this abandoned, forgotten place.
“Fuck. Keiran!”
I battle the dead weight of my fear-struck limbs and turn in time to meet Lugh when he throws himself forward, knocking my hand away from the belt. His touch is so warm, a reminder of vitality and life and everything missing from this cursed clearing. It doesn’t last though. He pushes me back, uprooting me from my place before the stone, and turns toward it. His spine is straight, one hand settled on the handle of the seax at his waist, and he glares at the brutal sight as though he could make it disappear from his will alone.
A litany of curses begins when the rest of the Hunt works past the trees and finds us. Drest stares in horror at the body, Armel stone-faced beside him. Cybel, still gripping the reins of his and Lugh’s mounts, comes to my side. He doesn’t reach down to help me up, nor does he look away from the sight of Lugh furiously blocking my view.
“What is this?” Cybel asks.