Hand of the Hunter

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The Feywild

That night, Hweilan was afraid to close her eyes. Not because of the thought of sacrifice and awakening the bow-there was trepidation there, yes, but that was tinged with more eagerness than anything. The simple fact was that, given her past experiences with Gleed, she was half afraid that she'd close her eyes and wake up naked in the woods. She promised herself that no matter what Gleed offered her to drink, she would refuse it.

But as it turned out, Gleed would allow her nothing.

"You will eat or drink nothing till dawn. Let your strength be my teachings, the visions of Kesh Naan, and the wiles of Ashiin."

She lay awake that night as long as she could, eyes half-closed, watching Gleed as he fed sweet grass and oak leaves into the fire and waved the smoke over his face, muttering as he meditated. But no matter how hard she tried to stay awake, her body was exhausted. The strength from Ashiin's potion had long since worn away, and Hweilan seemed weaker than ever. Long before midnight, she slept.

Gleed woke her, prodding her with his staff. The chamber lay in darkness, lit only by a somber glow of embers from the hearth.

"Up," said Gleed. "It's time. Bring your weapons."

He led her outside. Stars still sparkled overhead, but a thick mist lay over the lake, hiding the far shore and woods. Dawn was only a glow in the east. But something was alight on the far shore, a flicker of red through the fog.

They crossed the bridge, and Hweilan saw that the glow was a large fire burning in a ring of black stones.

"It begins at dawn. One drink from the stream," said Gleed, "then we prepare. And bring some water back with you." He handed her an empty skin.

"What begins?" said Hweilan.

"Your final test. The hunt."

"What am I hunting?"

Gleed looked away, staring into the fire. "You are being hunted, girl. By the Master. After, you will begin your hunt of Jagun Ghen. If you survive."

Those words brought others back to her mind. Words from a dream long ago that she realized had been more than just a dream-You do not need understanding. You need to choose. Understanding will come later… if you survive.

That time had come. Fear welled out of Hweilan's gut, making each breath an effort. She remembered her last encounter with Nendawen, how he had completely overwhelmed her. But, Hweilan reminded herself, she was stronger now-not only in body, but in heart and mind as well. She was ready. She didn't know if she could survive Nendawen, but she knew she was ready to begin her own hunt. If she died, so be it. Today, the uncertainty would be over, one way or another.

Hweilan walked to the stream, splashed water on her face to banish the last vestiges of sleep, filled the skin, and then took a long drink. As she came up out of the water, she saw a reflection rippling on its surface-a dark shape, its head framed by antlers.

She gasped and sat up. But it was only the branches of a nearby tree. Still, she could not shake the feeling of being watched. She glanced back at Gleed, but he had his back to her and was busily preparing something near the fire.

It took all her courage to turn her back on the stream and keep her pace at a leisurely walk as she went back to the fire.

"Sit," said Gleed.

She sat beside him.

"First, you must prepare the bow," Gleed said. "Then, you must prepare yourself."

As the eastern sky slowly grew brighter and the stars dimmed overhead, Gleed instructed her on the proper symbols to cut into the bow. She used the same enchanted spike that Gleed had used to give Hweilan her first uwethla. Praying and speaking the sacred words, she heated it in the fire till the tip glowed red, then carved the shesteh into the bow, Gleed telling her exactly which ones to use.

The last one surprised her. It was ashiin, the symbol for "fox."

She started to ask about it, but then the answer occurred to her. Ashiin had been her teacher in the hunt, had instructed her to stalk and kill as the fox. What symbol could be more fitting?

Gleed took a white leather bag out of the folds of his vest, untied it, and upended it over the fire. A heavy silver powder spilled out. No more than a handful, but it utterly doused the fire and filled the air with an earthy, bitter scent.

"Water," he said, and Hweilan handed him the skin. He splashed a generous amount on the coals and ashes, then stirred them with a stick, muttering an incantation as he did so.

He picked a cooled coal out of the fire pit and said, "Lean close."

She did. He used the coal to paint sacred symbols on her forehead, both cheeks, then down her nose and chin. While he did so, she twisted her hair into a tight braid. Holding the finished rope of hair in her hands, she noticed for the first time how long it was. Her last days in Highwatch, her hair had been just past her shoulders. Now, the tip of her braid touched her waist. Had she really been here that long? She looked down at her arm. She'd never had the palms of a proper court lady, but now they looked exactly like what they were-the hands of someone who spent most days in the wild, using tools of the hunt and killing. Her arms were a mass of scratches and scars, and the muscles under her skin were hard and tight. If there was anything left of the soft castle girl who had come to the Feywild, it was buried deep inside her.

"In life we walk to death," Gleed said, "but death is no end for those who walk in faith and courage. Look now through the ghost of fire-and do not fear death if it finds you today."

He lowered his hands, and the familiar sigh he gave told her that the formalities were over. It was almost time.

"You may take any weapon you wish," he said, "except for the bow. I will guard it. If you survive this day, it will be returned to you, strong once again."

Gleed reached around the fire, then handed her a large wooden bowl, filled with samil, the dark green paste that would mask her scent.

"Don't be shy with that," he said.

She took it, dipped three fingers in, then stopped. "No."

"No?"

Hweilan looked at the sky. The last of the stars were fading and the last of the bats had gone home. "How long do I have?"

"Not long," said Gleed.

"The Master will have his wolves?"

"Undoubtedly. You need the samil."

"I have a better idea," said Hweilan, and she ran for the tower.

When she emerged, the last of the stars were gone, and the sky in the east was truly a pale blue. As she stepped off the bridge and onto the lakeshore, a series of howls wafted out of the east.

Gleed's eyes went wide. "He's coming, girl. Coming now. What are you doing?"

Hweilan was trembling too much to be careful, so she threw the large satchel on the ground and tore open the flap. When Gleed saw what she was after, he let out a shriek.

"Are you mad? They'll smell that a mile off!"

"I'm counting on it," said Hweilan as she pulled the stopper out of the green glass bottle. It was filled with a viscous liquid. Maaguath. Hweilan had made it herself. Spread on a blade, it would burn an open wound like fire and prevent the blood from clotting. But it smelled like something that had died in the bottom of a wine cask.

She spread a thin line of it on the back of each of her boots, stoppered the bottle, put it in her pocket, then gathered the other things she needed. She stood, made sure both her knives were secure in their sheaths, then managed to give Gleed what she hoped was a brave smile.

"See you soon," she said, then ran into the woods.

More howls broke the morning silence. They were much closer.

Head bowed, staff across his lap, Gleed waited by the ashes of his fire. The howls had stopped, and that told Gleed they were close. When wolves truly began the hunt, they moved silent as ghosts. Much smarter than their yammering domesticated cousins.

Gleed did not hear the Master approach, but he sensed his presence. The power of Nendawen resonated far beyond mere sight, and all of Gleed's senses knew beyond doubt that he was no longer alone.

Keeping his gaze down, he stood, turned, and kneeled.

He heard a growl, so low and strong that it made the ground tremble beneath his knees. He looked up and saw Nendawen before him, spear in one hand, fresh blood dripping from the other. His eyes blazed green from the mask of bone, and four of his wolves stood around him. The nearest was the one growling. A huge monster, all black fur, even standing straight up Gleed would not have been able to look it eye to eye.

"My Master," said Gleed, and prostrated himself.

"Master of Making," said Nendawen. "My disciple is ready?"

Eagerness came off Nendawen like a musk. Gleed knew that Hweilan's life hung by a spider's thread. She was the Chosen of Nendawen, but the Master would accept only the most worthy and would show her no mercy. The girl had to earn her place. But Gleed also knew that there was something in the girl that even the Master had not planned on, had not even seen.

"Hweilan inle Merah stands ready," said Gleed, his face still in the dirt.

The wolves started snuffling, exhaling through their noses into the dirt, then inhaling in quick puffs of air. Gleed looked up and saw that Nendawen himself closed his eyes and took in a deep draft of air.

"She did this?" said Nendawen.

"I tried to make her wear the samil," said Gleed. "She refused."

Nendawen opened his eyes. They blazed with pleasure. "She wants me to find her."

Gleed swallowed and said, "She does."

"So be it."

Nendawen raised his blood-drenched hand, pointed in the direction Hweilan had gone, and his four wolves bolted, leaving a spray of dirt and leaves in their wake.

The Master looked down on Gleed, said, "Be ready," then ran after his wolves.

Gleed closed his eyes and prayed, "Grant her your aid, Forest Father."

The largest of the wolves took the lead. He had sharp senses, but their prey's scent was so strong that it took little effort. Wolves were not by nature forest hunters, preferring open plains or treeless hills. But these were no ordinary wolves. They had hunted prey in every environment in every world. His packmates tore through the brush behind him, their thick fur heedless of thorns and sharp branches.

The reek was getting stronger. So thick that the leader knew if he stopped to breathe it in fully it would fill his head, drowning out all other scents. He was used to following tiny streams or rivulets of scent. This was like wading through a summer swollen stream.

And then it split.

The leader stopped so abruptly that the two wolves behind actually passed him before stopping, their muzzles low to the ground as they searched through the confusion of scents.

Their prey was alone. On two legs. Her scent was overwhelming. She was alone. They knew this. But her scent had suddenly split in two different directions.

The Master joined them. He kneeled, his weaponless hand brushing the forest floor as he searched the trail. He raised his head and inhaled, sensing their divided trail.

He pointed after one trail. The pack leader followed it, another wolf at his heels. The master and the other wolves would follow the other trail.

The scent was still thick, but not nearly as thick as it had been. Their prey was running now, quickly as she could.

The wolves ran faster.

The trail kept them to the low ground for a while, following the foot of the hill. But in a valley choked with thornbushes, the scent turned uphill, heading for higher ground where the brush and trees would thin out. Stupid of her, the leader knew. Down here in the thick woods, she might have stood a chance. Up on the heights, the wolves would be in their element.

The leader slowed his pace, not out of weariness, but to allow his prey to gain some ground. He hoped to find her near the top, where there would be only a few trees.

But halfway up the hill, the trail turned again, running along the lee of the hill, then plunging down again, back into the thick woods of the valley. The leader growled in anger and anticipation, then increased his pace, his companion following him stride for stride.

Their prey's scent grew thicker with every step, and by the time they were in the valley again, breaking through brush and weaving through the tree shadow, the smell was almost overwhelming. They were close. Almost upon her.

The leader stopped and raised his head, his ears pivoting forward to take in every sound. His companion did the same. They kept their heads still as the trees around them, but their eyes flicked back and forth, searching the scene before them for the slightest hint of movement. The leader knew by the scent-now tinged with the unmistakable aroma of fear-that their prey was close. And their prey knew it too. She had stopped and gone to ground. She was probably watching them even now, her heart fearful and hammering like a rabbit's.

His companion let out a small bark and surged forward. The leader followed, his gaze raking through the forest ahead.

There!

Movement in the thick shadows in the hollow ground under a tree root.

Even though his companion had seen it and moved first, so great was the leader's eagerness that he passed the other wolf. Approaching the tree, he slowed just enough to gather strength in his hind legs, then sprang. His front paws hit the soft soil, sending an explosion of soil and leaves as his open jaws plunged into the hollow.

The shape in the darkness before him sprang aside-too fast and far too small for a human. The smell was so overpowering in the close quarters that the leader's eyes filled with tears, so he saw his prey before him in a blur as it bounded past him-and into the jaws of his companion.

One swift shake of the wolf's head, and the prey's back snapped.

But it was only a rabbit. Its gray fur had been smeared with some thick liquid.

The leader understood at last how the girl's trail had split. He threw back his head and howled, the sound of their defeat filling the morning air. He knew the Master would hear and understand.