Read Online Christopher Golden - The Veil 01 - The Myth Hunters by The Myth Hunters - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: The Myth Hunters
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just become a gust of snow without a storm to work with, but in any case he knew he was holding Frost back. Yet the winter man said nothing, only kept walking, continuing doggedly to the east.
They crossed through a clearing. On the far side was a thick grove of tall shrubs that seemed their own forest in the midst of the larger growth. Oliver pressed on. He was about to forge through the shrubbery when Frost whispered his name, a chill little bit of voice that touched his ears like a breeze.
Oliver paused and glanced at him.
The winter man crooked a finger and beckoned him to follow. “We’ll go around,” he whispered.
With a furrowed brow, Oliver pointed to the greenery. “They’re just shrubs.”
Frost arched an icy brow. “Nothing is ‘just’ anything here. You are far from home, Oliver, in a place whose customs and people you know astonishingly little about. I am a poor guide, I fear, but the best you can hope for. If you wish to survive—”
“All right, all right, I get it,” Oliver said, chastened. He followed Frost and they strode north across the clearing until they could go around that particular grove of shrubs. Only when they had entered the forest again did he speak up.
“Aren’t you going to tell me?”
“What is it I am supposed to tell you?” Frost asked.
“We went around. I’d like to know why.”
The winter man was several paces ahead and he glanced over his shoulder, mist fogging from his eyes. “You saw shrubs.”
“How could I have missed them?”
“Yet they were not shrubs. They were Betikhan.”
“Betty-who?”
Frost laughed softly and turned his attention back to blazing a path ahead. “Savage nature spirits. Before the creation of the Veil I believe they hailed from the part of the world you call India. Betikhan are benevolent creatures unless they are disturbed. Then they can be quite vicious.”
Oliver ducked beneath a low branch and caught the toe of his shoe on an exposed root. He stumbled and caught himself quickly, surprising himself by laughing.
“Vicious shrubbery?”
His only warning was the chiming of icicles as Frost spun on him. The winter man bared needle teeth and a gust of frigid breath blew from his mouth. That blue mist crystallized around his eyes and then fell as a small dusting of snowflakes to the ground. Terror seized Oliver and he stood rigid, as though Frost had frozen him there. His breath caught in his throat, the cold air of the winter man searing his lips.
The fury in those eyes filled him with fear and shame.
“There is nothing at all humorous in our situation,” Frost rasped. “In this world you will be surrounded by things that in your own would seem harmless. Make that presumption of anything here, and it could be the death of both of us.”
He did not wait for a reply, but turned and continued on. For several moments Oliver only stood watching after him, remembering how to breathe. At last he hurried to catch up. For an instant he thought he had lost track of Frost in amongst the trees, but then caught sight of the gleam of moonlight on ice.
Something rustled in the underbrush off to his right. Already on edge, Oliver spun to seek it out and saw a long, slender fox in amongst some ivy. Its eyes gleamed and its fur was the color of rust in the light of the moon. For several seconds he stared at it and it returned the intensity of his regard, but Oliver was aware that Frost was gaining distance and at last he tore his gaze away and dashed through the trees after the winter man. He glanced back once, but the fox was gone.
“All right,” he said quietly as he caught up. “I understand. As much as I understand any of this, I guess. I’ve been . . . uprooted. I’m lost. Do you understand? Lost in so many ways. All my life I’ve known all too well exactly what was
They crossed through a clearing. On the far side was a thick grove of tall shrubs that seemed their own forest in the midst of the larger growth. Oliver pressed on. He was about to forge through the shrubbery when Frost whispered his name, a chill little bit of voice that touched his ears like a breeze.
Oliver paused and glanced at him.
The winter man crooked a finger and beckoned him to follow. “We’ll go around,” he whispered.
With a furrowed brow, Oliver pointed to the greenery. “They’re just shrubs.”
Frost arched an icy brow. “Nothing is ‘just’ anything here. You are far from home, Oliver, in a place whose customs and people you know astonishingly little about. I am a poor guide, I fear, but the best you can hope for. If you wish to survive—”
“All right, all right, I get it,” Oliver said, chastened. He followed Frost and they strode north across the clearing until they could go around that particular grove of shrubs. Only when they had entered the forest again did he speak up.
“Aren’t you going to tell me?”
“What is it I am supposed to tell you?” Frost asked.
“We went around. I’d like to know why.”
The winter man was several paces ahead and he glanced over his shoulder, mist fogging from his eyes. “You saw shrubs.”
“How could I have missed them?”
“Yet they were not shrubs. They were Betikhan.”
“Betty-who?”
Frost laughed softly and turned his attention back to blazing a path ahead. “Savage nature spirits. Before the creation of the Veil I believe they hailed from the part of the world you call India. Betikhan are benevolent creatures unless they are disturbed. Then they can be quite vicious.”
Oliver ducked beneath a low branch and caught the toe of his shoe on an exposed root. He stumbled and caught himself quickly, surprising himself by laughing.
“Vicious shrubbery?”
His only warning was the chiming of icicles as Frost spun on him. The winter man bared needle teeth and a gust of frigid breath blew from his mouth. That blue mist crystallized around his eyes and then fell as a small dusting of snowflakes to the ground. Terror seized Oliver and he stood rigid, as though Frost had frozen him there. His breath caught in his throat, the cold air of the winter man searing his lips.
The fury in those eyes filled him with fear and shame.
“There is nothing at all humorous in our situation,” Frost rasped. “In this world you will be surrounded by things that in your own would seem harmless. Make that presumption of anything here, and it could be the death of both of us.”
He did not wait for a reply, but turned and continued on. For several moments Oliver only stood watching after him, remembering how to breathe. At last he hurried to catch up. For an instant he thought he had lost track of Frost in amongst the trees, but then caught sight of the gleam of moonlight on ice.
Something rustled in the underbrush off to his right. Already on edge, Oliver spun to seek it out and saw a long, slender fox in amongst some ivy. Its eyes gleamed and its fur was the color of rust in the light of the moon. For several seconds he stared at it and it returned the intensity of his regard, but Oliver was aware that Frost was gaining distance and at last he tore his gaze away and dashed through the trees after the winter man. He glanced back once, but the fox was gone.
“All right,” he said quietly as he caught up. “I understand. As much as I understand any of this, I guess. I’ve been . . . uprooted. I’m lost. Do you understand? Lost in so many ways. All my life I’ve known all too well exactly what was
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