Gabe waited as patiently as he could. He was alone by the great sarsen stone that marked an ancient barrow in the fading light after a long day. It was half nine, and the sun would come up again at half four tomorrow, for the longest day. He waited, dressed for what might come in solid tweeds, breeches, and tall boots.
He had the cane in his hand that could be magically folded and tucked away if needed, and a flask of hard cider slung on a strap over his shoulder. And in his pockets, there were half a dozen options for offerings. He’d laid out the honey cakes and a cunning little wooden cup of cider already, as a starting token.
Mama and Papa were back at Veritas with Isobel, and with all three children. They had not forbidden him to do this. They hadn’t even made a gesture at suggesting it, but he knew how worried they were. Alexander was also deeply worried, parked in the library with the rest of them. He suspected at least three of them would have paced a hole in the carpet by morning. Of course, the family also helped tend the fire outside, with clean bones and carefully chosen woods. There were people up all through the short night to keep watch and celebrate and call the blessings in.
It had been a challenge, figuring out where to be. The lore suggested the deep woods, a stone circle, a place with a particular tinge of myth. But Gabe knew - as well as anyone did - that the lore was changeable, as changeable as the Fatae. He’d wanted to do this on the land he loved in Kent. It wasn’t much, but it was a small gift, somewhere, that gave him a scrap of hope this idea might work.
When they’d pulled out the ordnance maps for scrying, he’d held what he wanted in his head, as best he could. They’d watched as his wedding ring, the weight they were using for the pendulum, swung back and forth, then settled with a rolling spin around White Horse Stone. It was just barely in the Edgarton half of Kent, miles from any place Gabe knew particularly well, but it was still land he loved. It hummed and sang to him, just at the edge of his hearing, as if it were some music far away, drifting through the wind.
Something here held his attention, though. It was easier to keep from fidgeting or distraction than he’d expected. Of course, he knew the risks. He’d discussed them with Rathna through the journal, he’d talked through them with Mama and Papa and Mason and Witt. He’d even talked it through with Charlotte, who’d had her own bout with a particular snare of enchantment once upon a time. All he could do was hold fast to what he was doing, why he was doing it, and who he was.
The music grew louder, all of a sudden, as if the musicians had stepped from a half mile away to just beside him. He could make out the melodies now, but they were nothing he knew. None of the country dances, none of the folk songs of the area, but something akin. After a phrase or two of music, he could feel the hair on the back of his neck rise, the prickle of magic. He settled his weight steady as he could between his feet, a dueller’s stance to move with whatever might come.
He’d expected the Hunt to come with baying hounds and the undeniable thuds of galloping hooves. Gabe had planned on shouts and cries of a hunt in full chase that had a line on their prey. Fierceness and power, tinged with anger and pain. Those were the dominant tales of the Wild Hunt, in many of the legends he’d looked at.
First, the light changed. Gabe had had the chance to see the aurora more than a few times, and this had all of that magic. It was as if there was a veil brushing everything everywhere, a whisper of undeniable and entirely intangible enchantment. Gabe thought his heart stopped beating, not because he was unwell, but because time itself had come to rest between one beat and another.
There was nothing, and then there was everything, forming out of a glowing silver light around and above the stone. There were horses, dozens of them, each with a rider. Gabe blinked twice to clear his vision, and the riders took sharper shape.
All of them he could see were women, but women of every shape and age and seeming. Some had pale skin, some darker skin like Rathna’s, a few of deep black unlike any human he’d ever seen. Each and every one of them had a luminous pearlescence to them, a shimmer that defied description but moved with them, lit them and flowed around them.
They were in flowing skirts but riding astride, hair loose and unbound. All of it, the silks and skirts and trailing hair, moved like it was blown in a wind, though the air around him had gone still. He could hear laughter and chatter. One of the women eased her mount to where she could scoop up the honey cake and cider, breaking a piece off and handing it to the woman beside her.
Heads thrown back, they enjoyed it, whole-hearted and joyful. Then the two focused on him. On Gabe, standing there. He bowed as smoothly as he could, lowering his eyes for only a moment before he straightened. When he stood tall again, they’d pulled their horses into a loose curve, watching him. The music and breeze had dropped away, leaving a soft background sound and only the slightest rustle.
Gabe held his tongue. He’d been told how to do this, and Cyrus and Alexander had been extremely clear. He pulled out a ring from his pocket, tossing it up in a graceful arc in the air, toward the woman who’d first taken the cake. “I would parley, lady, in keeping with terms of the Pact.”
She snatched it out of the air, quick as a peregrine taking a bird in flight or a cobra striking. Gabe did not flinch. He’d expected that, and he was focused on her eyes. She’d barely glanced away, as if knowing the metal would come to her hand. “Yes?”
No encouragement, but they had not gone on their way. One of the horses tossed her head, a tad impatiently, and the rider patted the mare’s withers, once, calming. Whatever else they were, they respected their mounts, and Gabe could work with that. This was, though, where it got tricky. Trickier.
“I come to you to seek aid only you can give, should you choose. You, who are born of the stars and the green earth, who dwell in the hidden places, and who ride out in blessing and judgement, I ask for you to hear me.” They had worked out the text, the praise and anchoring, as Alexander had put it, painstakingly. It wasn’t the language the Council used, but it couldn’t be, not quite. Gabe was coming as petitioner, not as diplomat.
The landscape shifted, then, and here was the eerie hint of the Wild Hunt. Gabe did not hear hounds or a pack in full fury, but suddenly the shadows beyond the group were darker. He could see a twist of a great iridescent green coil, as if it were circling them all, always moving and catching the light anew. Here, now, was that woodland he’d dreamed, months ago, and had not known, and they were no longer entirely on mortal land.
He took a breath to steady himself, waiting patiently because waiting was the only thing he could do. It was like that moment with the portal, the same terrifying demand for stillness, for waiting, for making himself a shape for what was needed. A time when he had to rise to the challenge of doing what was hardest for him.
The great lady at the centre nodded once, her voice now full of bells. “Speak what you wish, Gabriel Anthony Edgarton, who holds the magic of this land deep in his blood and bones, ancestor to ancestor.” Well, that answered one question, whether they knew who he was. Then the lady’s mouth twitched just once. “We have places to be.” Amused, he thought, not irritated, but how on earth would he be able to tell?
Gabe permitted himself a quick flash of a smile before settling to the work. He was no ritualist, not the way Alexander and Geoffrey and Cyrus were, but he knew how to do the thing properly. “We fear invasion. We of Albion, we of all who live in England’s green land, and the hills and valleys of Wales, and all of Scotland’s crags and lochs and everything in between. And we humans, we scrabble, thinking each of us, each group, has the right of what to do. I come to you, to the Fatae, to ask for some token that might offer a cause for unity. Something all might recognise as a symbol, a sign.”
There was another flash in her expression, one he could not read at all. Then she raised her hand, fingers flicking in what must be some silent language. She didn’t look away from him, didn’t look to see what message might be returned. Just that steady, even stare. As the mist and starlight had settled, cloaking them rather than dancing around them, he could see the lady’s hair was dark, with twists of vines and flowers pinned in it. She wore a dress of deep green, the sort of green that sang of enchantments and of those great coils that still twisted behind them.
“What will you give us for such a thing?” She flicked her fingers. “It is quite a boon.”
They’d talked about this. What he could offer. What he had the right to offer. Taken one way, all he could offer was himself. But sacrificing your life was an offer you could make once and only once, at least if it were accepted. It certainly wasn’t the thing to lead the negotiations with, unless he were determined it would be his only gift. But she’d given him a hint, at least.
“You know me, lady, my name and my blood. You know of my parents and my children, and my wife, away across the Channel.” Gabe couldn’t help the way his heart skipped at that, at even the thought of Rathna.
“Our kin have heard her, and are considering her own request. A less direct one, at the moment.” The lady on the horse shrugged once, a very human gesture to cut across the stillness she’d had til then. “I do know your measure.” Before she spoke again, the ranks of horses parted, making an aisle, and one of the women rode up, a riderless horse’s reins in her hand. “Will you ride with us?”
Gabe blinked. Riding was not the problem. Or at least, he expected not. They were horses, after all, and he knew horses. Even if these were obviously magical, they were still visibly like horses. They stood and stamped and were in every way a horse. “Yes, lady, in hopes of an answer. And a safe dismount at the end?” He made the last a clear question.
She laughed, the sound like bells and the deep beat of a large drum tumbling over each other. “Mount, adjust your stirrups, and we shall ride.” It was no direct answer, but it was what he was offered. The mare with no rider was enough the shape of his beloved Invicta, but also not the same horse at all. She had fine shapely ears, a light build, a curving neck, and excellent legs for a hunter.
It might be the last thing Gabe ever did, the last thing he remembered of his life, but he could not have turned down the chance for anything in the world. “May I give her a treat, lady, to make friends?”
That got all of them laughing, the sound echoing around the clearing, but when the world got quiet again, their leader was quick to add, “Please, do. You may call her Apple.” A use name, clearly, whatever others the mare answered to.
Gabe fished the little apple and oat biscuit out of the bottom of his jacket. He’d not expected to need it, not tonight, but he generally had one there, just in case. He held his palm out, thumb tucked neatly to the side, as he took the reins from the woman who was holding them. Apple whuffled at his hand eagerly enough, and it gave him a chance to get a better measure of her. Well-built, with an elegance and sturdiness that suggested some ancient breeding line. Her hooves were tidily trimmed, and recently.
He put the reins over her head. “A moment, if you please?” He took the time to circle her, getting her to pick up one foot, then the other. He checked the girth as he went down the curve of her barrel, adjusting the stirrup automatically to the length of his arm. Then he reversed, doing the same again on the other side. The women murmured, something he didn’t understand, but it seemed amused as well, rather than impatient. There were no stones. The girth was snug, and the mare did not object to his check.
By the time he’d got back around to her left side, the women had spread out in an easy arc again, giving him plenty of room to mount. By preference, he’d have mounted from the right, but he knew it would cause comment, and he could manage. Would manage. One bounce, then two, his ankle complaining a bit, before he swung up and into the saddle. He gathered up the reins, squeezing lightly with his calves, testing the mare’s responsiveness. Apple moved forward two steps, then halted again when he sank into the saddle and rocked his hips to hold her between hands and his seat.
“Ready?” The lady glanced over at him.
“As you will.” Which was a dangerous thing to say, but here he was on a horse, and who knew what the evening would hold.
Without a word, the lady signalled her own mare, who picked up a canter, neat and tidy as any pavo mount. Apple was eager to follow, falling into place among the others. She had a glorious gait, smooth as Mama’s own mares always had, a rolling pace that covered ground easily. It was the kind of canter that could go on for ages, even without magic. The group turned down a long track; the horses spread out, people rode in twos or threes. It was only as they got going that he realised the horses never quite touched the ground. They took a turn, leaping over a fence, and Gabe felt Apple’s haunches bunch up for the jump, taking it entirely in stride.
He could do this part. He had no fears here, beyond the ordinary cautions of a horse. They were moving at speed, but if they never quite touched the ground, he didn’t have to worry Apple would stumble or find some hidden hole or tree root. All he had to do was keep an eye out for his own head, and stay with them.
They rode for what could have been hours, except that the sky did not change so much as all that, circling in a long path through fields and woodlands. They crossed streams, even a river, once, in places Gabe recognised and places he’d never seen.
They trotted along the edge of villages and grand estates, and circled around a castle once. Here and there, the lady would pause, and one of her court would toss something down. Whatever it was, it was glowing white, and it floated, like flower petals or feathers or both. They had more weight, though, rather than drifting in the air, they slipped down to land. They always moved on before Gabe could see what effect that brush of magic had, but whatever it was, they were deliberate about who was touched and who was not.
Gabe didn’t ask. He couldn’t, for one thing. The women around him had picked up conversations, but they were in some language he’d never heard. He knew enough Welsh and Scots that it wasn’t either of those, though it might have been a related language, or an ancient version of the tongue. While they might well also speak modern English, he wasn’t going to interrupt.
He would ride, he would pay attention, and he would, whatever else, enjoy this moment as wholeheartedly as he could manage. It might be a gift that came with unexpected fangs. But until they showed, he would make the most of a wonderful horse, a gorgeous night, and a moment of respite in the midst of war.
Eventually, they came to a pause, having found a stone circle somewhere high atop a hill, from which they could see all the surrounding land. There was no one there, no bonefire, nor wakefire, nor solstice bonfire, just the ring of stones shining in the moonlight. The ladies all pulled their horses into a loose ring again, and their leader pivoted hers to face Gabe and Apple.
“You ride well, Gabriel.”
The praise first made him a little wary, but he nodded once. The trick was to appreciate the compliment without implying obligation. No one knew for sure what did that, but thanks were generally a bad idea. “I have loved to ride from the time I was tiny, lady, and I am glad of the chance. Apple is a grand mount, and I only wish to do her justice.”
It brought them to laughing again, laughing and a murmur of chatter.
“Do you have questions, Gabriel?” This had a more serious tone, a slight edge to it.
“Many, lady, but none I will ask. I am sure you will tell me what you wish, and not one morsel more. This is your time, your night, your steeds, and your hunt. It is not mine to question, much as I am, on an ordinary day, made of questions.”
“And on extraordinary days, as well.” She drew the words out with a purr. Now she was laughing again, her eyes gleaming. He wasn’t close enough to see the colour, but he thought they must be more like golden yellow than like human eyes, the way the flashes of colour caught. “What will you do with a token if we give you one?”
“Do my best, lady, to unify our work, in keeping this land safe, and all who dwell on it. Human, magical and not. Animal. And whatever we might offer to the Fatae who dwell here as well, though I do not know what that might be.” He did not ask for himself, after all. That wasn’t what he was here for.
There was a tiny pause, as if he had said something she had not quite expected. “Well said, Gabriel.” Her fingers flicked once in another one of those silent communications. “We will give you the gift you seek. There are three things you must do. First, ride with us the rest of the night. Second, do as you have said, doing your best to bring together those who would stand and defend the land. We will know if you shirk or falter, but we know that you can cajole, not command.” Then she paused. “Last, when you are asked a question you wish to refuse, say yes. You will know which one when that time comes.”
The first two were - well, not easy. The riding was a joy, and if the rest of the evening was the same, it was no great demand. The second, well, he’d already committed to doing that, and they had made it clear they understood the limits of what he could do. The third, though. Of course it was three things. It was going to be either three or seven. That was how it went. And the last always had the sharp bite.
But he nodded, just once. “As you say, lady. I trust you know your work, as well as I know mine.”
It made her laugh again, head thrown back. She picked up the reins again before the sound trailed off. “The petals we drop are gifts, blessing those who have left particular offerings, or who have need of a touch of lightness. Nothing that breaks the Pact, of course, just a wish on the wind. A moment of belief in things beyond the seen and heard.”
Gabe inclined his head once, acknowledging that. A particular line of lore, that, but it was perhaps to be expected. There were tales out of Germany and Scandinavia, the northern isles, about the Wild Hunt led by women being one that shared gifts, rather than a trooping of the graveless dead, or a mass of hunters after prey. Before he was done, the lady had wheeled her horse, and they were off and away again.
In this second half of the night, Gabe found he could relax a hair, watching the landscape change and shift around him. They circled, leapt fences, caught a sett of badgers frolicking by a hedgerow, a pair of foxes and kits in a field. Gabe heard the murmuring of twilight nightjars in a pause, caught a flash of a star hare. And then, deep in woods he thought might well be the New Forest, a flash of a white hart.
He didn’t think they’d circled very far north, but he wasn’t sure. The places he knew best were Kent or the New Forest, but it wasn’t as if he knew Cornwall or Wiltshire or Cumbria near as well. Once, he was sure they’d come up to Norfolk, near where he’d spent a week on a case. But it seemed they were there for only an instant before they were away again.
As the light began to glow again, they pulled up, and suddenly he was home. There was Veritas, and they had come up on the pond side. The lights were still bright in the library, though they were well down the hill toward the salle. The lady drew her mare up and nodded once, holding out a hand. One of the others placed something in it, and the lady rode closer, so they were knee to knee. “Your hand.”
He gathered the reins in his left hand, holding out his right, uncertain what she meant to do. She took his fingers in hers, turning his palm down, and slipping a ring on his fourth finger, mirroring where he wore the wedding ring on his left. It glinted in the moonlight and then sparkled with its own internal light, a flash of green that was all the same magic as the insistent dragon.
“May I ask what I should know about showing it to others, lady?” He didn’t know how to put the question better than that.
“You will see.” Right. He wasn’t getting answers. Gabe hadn’t really expected them. “It has been a fine ride with you. It is good to know that some respect the old agreements, and have good manners. You may find your family.” That was a clear dismissal.
Before he moved to dismount, though, Gabe cleared his throat. “May I offer your mounts - or you ladies - any refreshment? Fresh water, oats, whatever I might get from our kitchens or cellars?”
That got another laugh. “We are well, Gabriel, we are well. But if you were to leave a plate of honey cakes and a flask of cider out somewhere private near here tonight, we would gladly feast then.”
“I will see it done.” Gabe swallowed. “I will do as I have said in all things tonight, to the best of my ability. May all your rides be blessed in all the ways you wish.”
That said, he dismounted, feeling solid ground underneath his feet for the first time in hours. His ankle jarred for a moment, but before he could wobble, the horses and their riders swirled up, disappearing like scattering leaves. Gabe stood alone in the grass, the ring on his finger to prove that it had not all been some enchantment or dream only in his head.
Then he unfolded the cane again, and walked up toward the house, the glass windows that looked out on the lawn, hoping he didn’t scare them too much.