The Myth Hunters

“Now someone is killing us, it seems. And most of the citizens of the Two Kingdoms will care not at all. Some will likely even cheer. The Hunters have likely been employed in secret, but even should word of their actions begin to spread, few will protest. We are only myths, after all,” the winter man said, sneering the hated word.



A night bird cawed in the shadows of the branches above. In the bole of a nearby tree, Oliver was sure he saw the eyes of an owl.



“As to who is responsible, who has set these hounds upon my trail— and now upon yours as well— I fear I haven’t the slightest inkling. We need to find a safe haven where we may rest and where we can see what other news can be discovered about—”



With a gust of frigid wind the winter man spun round and dropped into a crouch, fingers elongating into wicked talons. Something rustled back in amongst the shadows of the trees, far out of the moonlight. Oliver held his breath, wanting to ask what it was that had alarmed him so, but unable to form the words.



Oliver took a step forward and Frost shot him an abrupt look and then gestured for him to go, to run alongside the massive barrow. He snapped his head, indicating the urgency of their situation, and Oliver began to run. In three paces he found the winter man sprinting beside him and the two of them raced to the east with that ridge on their right and something rushing through the woods to the left, brush crashing and swaying.



Low branches seemed to reach for him but Oliver swiped them away. His stomach rumbled— a reminder of the hours since he had last eaten. His throat was raw, his chest constricted and his legs felt as though they were moving of their own accord. He caught sight of a fallen tree just in time to leap over it and glanced back to see it frost over with glistening rime as the winter man passed by. The finger of a branch scratched his forehead and he hissed but did not slow. He glanced over his left shoulder time and again, trying to catch sight of whatever paced them in the brush, but after several long seconds of running, the sounds from the woods ceased and he began to think it had given up the chase.



“What is it?” he gasped as Frost prodded him in the arm with an icy finger, urging him still onward.



“I do not know,” the winter man said, his voice seeming to come from the breeze itself. “Something magical that does not wish to be seen.”



That was enough for Oliver. If Frost thought they ought to run, he was not about to argue. They ran side by side, the legendary creature moving effortlessly even as Oliver got a stitch in his side. Still he forced himself on, feet pounding the soil. They had to put some distance between themselves and their pursuer, or at the very least find a clearing where it could not approach them unseen. All of these thoughts mingled with the fear in his mind and with thoughts of home, of people he was beginning to doubt he would ever see again. It was only physical and emotional momentum that carried him forward. He had nowhere else to go.



The ridge gradually sloped downward and soon he could see the tops of the trees on the far side. Ahead in the yellow light of the moon he could see that the forest floor seemed to flatten out again, and then beyond it there seemed a vast open space with no trees at all.



“There,” he rasped.



“Yes,” Frost agreed. “We can take our bearings.”



In that moment, though, there came a snap of branches behind them. Oliver cursed under his breath and Frost bared his teeth and cut across in front of him. Oliver nearly stumbled before he realized what the winter man intended, but then they were both running up the steep ridge. It had diminished so much by then that the place they climbed up was less than ten feet high, and they scaled it without effort. Oliver glanced back even as they topped the rise and then he turned to catch a quick glimpse of the clearing that stretched out in front of them.



Oliver grunted in astonishment and flinched back as though he’d been struck. He teetered on that narrow ridge and his hands flew to the top of his head, holding the sides of his skull as though he was afraid there simply wasn’t room in his mind for any more of what the world beyond the Veil had to show him.



The being that lay in the clearing ahead could only have been called a giant. He must have been seventy or eighty feet from end to end and his skin was a leathery, wrinkled brown. Yet size was only one of the facets of the thing that left Oliver speechless. Tatters of rough linen that once could have been considered clothes hung on the enormous creature, but the forest itself covered him now. The giant lay on his side, his knees and part of one foot buried in the ground, and saplings grew over them. A thick layer of moss had formed in crevices on the giant’s body, where the sun rarely shone. It grew up in the crook of his neck and behind one ear. Weeds and mushrooms and flowers grew from the moss, and a bush with dark green and red-tinted leaves sprang from his ear.



All around the giant were the fireflies he had seen earlier, hundreds of them flitting from weed to flower.



Oliver narrowed his eyes.



They weren’t fireflies.



“Oh,” he whispered. “They’re beautiful.”



His feet seemed to move of their own accord and he started forward without making any allowance for the hill. He stumbled, tried to keep his footing, but the momentum tipped him over and then he was spilling end over end down the far side of the ridge. His shoulder struck exposed bone and he grunted in pain but could not arrest his tumble until at last he sprawled at the bottom, just at the edge of the clearing, perhaps forty feet from the giant’s knees.



“Fool!” he heard Frost snap, above and behind him.



Oliver stood and brushed off the seat of his pants, which had dried long ago but were still stiff. He stared wide-eyed but found himself not looking at the giant, but the colorful things that fluttered all around. Unable to prevent himself from moving, he walked slowly alongside the enormous man. The giant’s chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm, and Oliver realized he was sleeping. For how long? he thought. For the forest to grow over him like that . . . how long?



He wondered what would happen if somehow the giant was to awaken, if his lost flesh would be restored, or if he would live as this half-decayed creature forever. Already he understood that there were many kinds of magic in this world, some far more sinister than others, but looking at the astonishing tableau before him, he was reminded how very much he had to learn.



A cluster of mushrooms grew from the giant’s navel and more of those things, like fireflies, hovered around them.



Oliver watched as one of them, a pale thing that gave off a golden luminescence, flew toward the giant’s face and into one enormous nostril. In the darkness of the giant’s nose there were multicolored flashes of light. One of them flitted over to him, zipping toward his face, and Oliver gasped in surprise and fright and ducked back.



She tilted her head and studied him curiously, that tiny naked woman with her black eyes and hummingbird wings, a lavender light glowing around her as she danced in the air. The light came from a sparkling phosphorescence given off by her wings. He uttered a small noise of delight and shock when he caught the scent of her— a remarkable perfume that made him feel as though he had just woken from a long sleep. In fact, the air was filled with the mingling of many different scents, all alluring in their way, and he realized he had been smelling them since he had come over the ridge.



“Les Bonnes Dames,” the winter man said softly as he joined Oliver in the clearing of the sleeping giant.



“They’re fairies,” Oliver replied without tearing his gaze away from the tiny women.



Before Frost could reply, another voice came from behind them. “Peries, to be precise. Their ancestors were Persian.”



Oliver turned to see a woman standing on the ridge from which they had just descended. In her way she was as breathtaking as the giant or the flitting Peries, for there was magic in every nuance of her aspect and yet she appeared entirely human. Her soft jade-green eyes seemed alight from within. Ebony hair framed a finely boned face with the distinct flair of the Orient. Her clothes were simple black garments but they were worn beneath a flowing, hooded cloak of copper-red fur. It struck him instantly that the night was too warm for such a cloak, but she seemed not to notice.



The winter man did not turn. “I knew it was useless to try to outrun you.”



His tone made Oliver blink several times and regard this stunning woman anew. “You were the one in the woods. You were . . .” He stared at Frost. “Wait, is she one of them?”



With just a moment’s hesitation, Frost did finally turn to regard her. A smile cracked the edges of his mouth and his jagged hair clinked together again.



“An excellent question,” he said, staring at the red-cloaked woman. “Are you one of them? Are you hunting?”



She smiled in return, those jade eyes gleaming. Shadows seemed to coalesce inside her hood but it might just have been the angle of the moonlight.



“I am always hunting, kind sirs. But not for you. I was only walking, enjoying the night, the sounds and scents, and when I caught yours it made me curious. I decided to follow.” She offered a small shrug. “Forgive me for intruding, but I thought to do you the courtesy of warning you not to wake the giant. The Peries put him to sleep and he is their home now. They would not take kindly to anyone waking him.”



Oliver stared at her, dawning horror spreading through him. “This was deliberate? They made him this way?”



A strange smile came upon the woman’s features. “They are beautiful, aren’t they? But beauty has teeth and claws all its own. The Peries have made their home. Waking the giant would take their home from them, and they would likely tear your flesh from your bones if you were but to try. The giant would not thank you, either, for he would live in agony.”



Nausea churned in Oliver’s stomach and when he shot a glance at the rotting giant and the spritely things flitting in and out of his orifices and the holes eroded in his body, he could no longer see their beauty. All he saw were maggots, nesting in dead flesh.



The beautiful woman smiled and bowed low, red fur flowing over her as she moved. “I am Kitsune.”



The winter man had stared at her from the moment of her arrival. “You are Borderkind.”



“As are you, Morozko.”



“I am Frost.”



One corner of her mouth rose in the hint of a smile. “Of course you are.” She inclined her head. “Your pardon. I mistook you for another aspect of your legend.”



Oliver found himself mesmerized by the woman, even as he began to wonder what, exactly, she was. He was not surprised to learn that she was Borderkind. No human woman had ever exuded such magic. But here she was in the middle of this vast forest, seemingly alone.



“Are you hiding?” he asked, before he could stop the question from leaving his lips.



Her eyes narrowed as she turned those jade eyes on him. “What do you mean?”



Frost saved him from having to respond by holding up a hand to quiet him. “This is Oliver Bascombe. A friend. Your presence here has made him curious. He is not aware that Kitsune always travels alone.”



For the first time her confidence wavered. She glanced away a moment and then walked nimbly down the hill to join them. Oliver was surprised at how small she was, the top of her head barely coming to his shoulders.



“At times it is unwise to be alone,” she said softly.



The winter man continued to stare. “Then you are aware that we are hunted?”



“I have heard whispers. When I heard that you were in the wood—”



Oliver started. “Heard? From whom?”



Kitsune smiled indulgently. “There are many eyes in the forest. They saw you pass. I came to watch you. I know the Hunters are abroad in the land, but I have not seen any sign of them here.”



Frost nodded. “That’s good to know. You have my thanks.”



She dipped her head so that for a moment her face disappeared beneath the red fur of her hood. “Where will you go now? To see the Sandmen?”



The winter man studied her warily. “Perhaps.”



“Sandmen?” Oliver said, feeling more and more as though he had become invisible to these two, who were so different and yet of the same strange clan. “That’s news to me.”



“I told you we needed a place to rest. A sanctuary. The castle of the Sandmen is not far, just beyond the edge of the forest and a short way along the Truce Road.”



Kitsune took several steps away from them. With her back turned she was completely hidden within her cloak, but Oliver thought she must be watching the Peries fly, their colors splashing the night, their perfume in the air. After several moments, she spoke without turning.



“I have not been through the Veil in years. They do not believe in me much anymore. Not even in their fantasies.”



“That prevents you from crossing over?” Oliver asked.



A bittersweet smile touched Kitsune’s lips. “No. But it certainly takes the pleasure from the trip.” Her expression turned grave as she turned to Frost. “Yet no matter how infrequently I cross over, I am still Borderkind and the Hunters will come for me eventually. I would travel with you, if you’d have me.”



Oliver glanced over at the winter man. Suspicion was etched in his icy features, but he nodded slowly.



“If you wish.”



“We’d be honored,” Oliver told her.



Kitsune turned just enough so that she could look at him. In the moonlight, her entire face was suffused with a golden glow.



“Let us go, then. The forest is not safe for strangers, especially at night.”



Oliver did not like the sound of that. He took one last, long look at the sleeping giant and the tiny winged women who flitted around him, and tried to imagine an entire world filled with such wonders. Whatever they encountered next, he was sure that he could not be any more astonished than he was now.



Yet it was not the first time during that long night that he had felt such certainty, and each time he had been wrong.