and when I drew in a breath, I no longer felt the hot sear of burning
coals in my side.
“What did you
just do?” I asked, touching my face, feeling for the cuts that were no longer
there.
“Put ye to
rights,” he said casually, still balanced in a crouch, watching me.
“Why?” I asked,
but he didn’t answer. He just shrugged one shoulder. Apparently it didn’t take
much for him to perform magic. It didn’t even look like he had taken time to
draw up his power from anywhere.
“So,” he said,
“what’s the name then? Or do ye like being called girl?”
“Oh, um,” I stumbled
lamely, “my name’s Shay.”
“Aye, Shay.” He
nodded and held out a hand for me. “Gwyn.”
I reached for
his hand, but he slipped past my hand and clasped my wrist, making me clasp
his. It was an odd sort of old-fashioned handshake, and before I could let go,
he pulled me to my feet. Standing in front of him, I blinked up, realizing just
how much taller he was than I had thought while watching him on his horse. My
head barely came to his shoulders.
“Bit of a pixie,
aren’t we?” he asked, smiling down at me.
“Oh, uh, no.” I
shook my head, but he just laughed, squeezing my wrist one last time before
releasing it. I glanced around and saw the three goblins eyeing me, clustered
together and chattering in that foreign language. The rest were bundling up
their kills and strapping them to the horses. Some had already mounted, waiting
for the rest.
“We are away,”
Gwyn called out, circling a finger in the air as he walked over to his mount.
He let out a sharp, loud whistle, and the red-eared white hounds came together
in a herd and bounded after him.
“No!” I called
out and hurried after him. “Please, wait!”
“Aye?” Gwyn
asked as he gripped the reins of his horse before swinging himself up easily,
flying through the air to settle on the horse.
“Listen,” I
said, “I don’t know where I am or how I got here.”
“The Outlands is
where ye are, girl,” Gwyn said as he situated himself.
“Wait, the Outlands ?” I asked, shaking my head.
“Like outside the Shide?”
“Ah, aye,
perhaps an angel and a pixie.” He nodded. My grandmother had told me about the
Outlands when I was a child. It was a place without rest, a place banished
spirits were sent. I had always thought it was just a scary story told to kids
to ensure they behaved, kind of like being afraid Santa would know when you
were being naughty or nice. The Outlands was where restless spirits went to
roam. So really, it was very much like Hell.
Gwyn made a hand
motion to part of his hunting party, and I knew he was about to lead them off,
so I reached up and grabbed the length of his reins and held on to them.
“Please, I don’t
know how to get out of here,” I said. “I have to get home.” Gwyn glanced down
at my hands, one silver brow arching high before he turned those black eyes on
me.
“Home? So ye
really think ye can escape the Slaugh?” I snatched my hands back, dropping the reins,
and stumbled back a few steps. He tsked at me and shook his head.
“The Slaugh ?” I repeated. He nodded slowly,
that sly smile spreading into a grin as he watched the color drain from my
face. I heard my grandmother’s voice in my mind, warning me to never anger the
Fae for fear of facing the wrath of the Slaugh. The Wild Hunt. The harbingers
of justice and fury. The Slaugh brought
the damned souls to this forsaken place. They were a relentless hunting party,
always looking for kinslayers and oathbreakers. If you were wronged by someone,
you could invoke the Slaugh to take that person from my former world to this
one to exact your revenge. But the Slaugh hadn’t brought me here, which was why I hadn’t known where I was until then. And
I had let the Hunt Master touch me, heal me.
“And remember,
Shayna Bridget,” my grandmother said as she bent over to kiss my forehead. “If
the Hunt catches you and the Hunt Master heals your wounds from
coals in my side.
“What did you
just do?” I asked, touching my face, feeling for the cuts that were no longer
there.
“Put ye to
rights,” he said casually, still balanced in a crouch, watching me.
“Why?” I asked,
but he didn’t answer. He just shrugged one shoulder. Apparently it didn’t take
much for him to perform magic. It didn’t even look like he had taken time to
draw up his power from anywhere.
“So,” he said,
“what’s the name then? Or do ye like being called girl?”
“Oh, um,” I stumbled
lamely, “my name’s Shay.”
“Aye, Shay.” He
nodded and held out a hand for me. “Gwyn.”
I reached for
his hand, but he slipped past my hand and clasped my wrist, making me clasp
his. It was an odd sort of old-fashioned handshake, and before I could let go,
he pulled me to my feet. Standing in front of him, I blinked up, realizing just
how much taller he was than I had thought while watching him on his horse. My
head barely came to his shoulders.
“Bit of a pixie,
aren’t we?” he asked, smiling down at me.
“Oh, uh, no.” I
shook my head, but he just laughed, squeezing my wrist one last time before
releasing it. I glanced around and saw the three goblins eyeing me, clustered
together and chattering in that foreign language. The rest were bundling up
their kills and strapping them to the horses. Some had already mounted, waiting
for the rest.
“We are away,”
Gwyn called out, circling a finger in the air as he walked over to his mount.
He let out a sharp, loud whistle, and the red-eared white hounds came together
in a herd and bounded after him.
“No!” I called
out and hurried after him. “Please, wait!”
“Aye?” Gwyn
asked as he gripped the reins of his horse before swinging himself up easily,
flying through the air to settle on the horse.
“Listen,” I
said, “I don’t know where I am or how I got here.”
“The Outlands is
where ye are, girl,” Gwyn said as he situated himself.
“Wait, the Outlands ?” I asked, shaking my head.
“Like outside the Shide?”
“Ah, aye,
perhaps an angel and a pixie.” He nodded. My grandmother had told me about the
Outlands when I was a child. It was a place without rest, a place banished
spirits were sent. I had always thought it was just a scary story told to kids
to ensure they behaved, kind of like being afraid Santa would know when you
were being naughty or nice. The Outlands was where restless spirits went to
roam. So really, it was very much like Hell.
Gwyn made a hand
motion to part of his hunting party, and I knew he was about to lead them off,
so I reached up and grabbed the length of his reins and held on to them.
“Please, I don’t
know how to get out of here,” I said. “I have to get home.” Gwyn glanced down
at my hands, one silver brow arching high before he turned those black eyes on
me.
“Home? So ye
really think ye can escape the Slaugh?” I snatched my hands back, dropping the reins,
and stumbled back a few steps. He tsked at me and shook his head.
“The Slaugh ?” I repeated. He nodded slowly,
that sly smile spreading into a grin as he watched the color drain from my
face. I heard my grandmother’s voice in my mind, warning me to never anger the
Fae for fear of facing the wrath of the Slaugh. The Wild Hunt. The harbingers
of justice and fury. The Slaugh brought
the damned souls to this forsaken place. They were a relentless hunting party,
always looking for kinslayers and oathbreakers. If you were wronged by someone,
you could invoke the Slaugh to take that person from my former world to this
one to exact your revenge. But the Slaugh hadn’t brought me here, which was why I hadn’t known where I was until then. And
I had let the Hunt Master touch me, heal me.
“And remember,
Shayna Bridget,” my grandmother said as she bent over to kiss my forehead. “If
the Hunt catches you and the Hunt Master heals your wounds from
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