Dreams and Shadows

chapter FIFTEEN

THE WILD HUNT

An excerpt by Dr. Thaddeus Ray, Ph.D., from his book A Chronicle of the Dreamfolk

There are few sounds in this world more terrifying than the thunderous onset of a Wild Hunt. These dark, murderous, black riders arrive foretold only by the tumultuous cacophony of their steeds coming from miles off, the strike of each hoof uniting into a deafening roar that can set a man’s ears to ringing from a quarter mile away. It is the sound of the damned that some say are the echoes of Hell, reminding the riders that their stay in our world is short. They are also a beastly warning of a calamity to come; gifted with terrible visions, the riders are seers of unfortunate futures.

Hearing the strikes of the hooves and the howls and horns of the riders means one shall experience the coming disasters firsthand. Seeing the riders, however, means almost certain death.

No one knows when the first hunt took place, though history is rife with their tales. Antiquity tells us stories of mounted mobs sweeping through the desert atop black steeds whose nostrils billowed smoke and whose hooves sparked fires in the brush as they rolled across villages, slaughtering dozens before vanishing, never to be seen or heard from again.

The earliest historically recorded appearance comes to us from the Peterborough Chronicle—the copy of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle so named for the monastery at Peterborough in which it was kept. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, a literary record of the events of the day—updated yearly—had this to say about the 1127 appointment and arrival of Henry of Poitou as the new abbot of Peterborough:

“Let no one think strange the truth that we declare, for it was well-known throughout the entire country that as soon as he arrived there—that is, on the Sunday on which one sings, ‘Exurge, quare obdormis, Domine?’ immediately thereafter many men saw and heard many huntsmen hunting. These hunters were black and big and ugly, and all their dogs were black and ugly, with wide eyes, and they rode on black horses and black goats. This was seen in the deer park itself in the town of Peterborough and in all the woods between Peterborough and Stamford. And the monks heard the horns blowing, which they blew at night. Reliable witnesses observed them at night. They said it seemed to them there might well have been twenty to thirty blowing horns. This was seen and heard from the time he came here, all that Lent up to Easter. This was his arrival. Of his departure we cannot yet speak. May God provide!”

No record exists of what calamity this portent meant to foretell, whether one of the great losses in the Crusades or some local treachery that history has wiped clean, but the description is unmistakable. Throughout record these riders have made their presence known and run down the wicked, the sinful, and the unbaptized, the lawbreakers, heretics, and purveyors of immorality that have offended the master of the hunt.

This head huntsman only seems to command the hunt for scant periods of history. Sometimes the same mad huntsman is reported for decades whilst others are seen only once. The rhyme or reason behind how a man becomes head of such a pack is unknown. What is known, however, is that whoever leads the Wild Hunt has mastery of his hounds and fellow riders. The wickedness of such a display seems entirely to rest upon the cruelty of his command. On some occasions, like the Peterborough incidents, the hunt seems to leave little or no carnage behind. Other, more bloodthirsty rides, however, show no mercy to even the most venial of sinners.

Some, but not all, accounts of these rides include mentions of hounds. These range in description from the terrifying Black Dogs, roughly the size of a calf, spoken of in English folklore, to the nearly indescribable hellhounds yelping incomprehensible gibberish amid sharp barks. Most accounts, however, seem to describe the Barguest (or barghest), a massive shaggy hound with powerful jaws that can tear limbs clean off, and teeth sharp enough to rend flesh instantly from bone. These hounds emit the pungent stink of brimstone, their eyes burn like coals, and they possess the ability to vanish in a flash of hellfire. Daring to cross paths in front of a Barguest can cause a wound to mysteriously appear that will fester, blister, and refuse to heal. Their most notable quality, however, is their howl, which is reserved for the nights on which someone of great importance is to die. Unlike the banshee, this person need not hear the howl, for it is not for them. It is for everyone else, a signal that someone great or powerful among them is that very night trapped in the clutches of Hell.

There is no known ward or protection against the Wild Hunt. It must simply run its course. If ill fate so has it that you find yourself hearing the roar of their hooves: find shelter, crouch low, and pray they do not notice you. An open field, the forest, or anywhere without nearby shelter is the last place you want to be when the hunt is called—for those hooves and horns may be the last thing you hear, and will certainly be the last thing you see.