Dreams and Shadows

chapter NINE

THE BOY EWAN PREPARES THE HUNT

The nearly seven years since Ewan Thatcher had been abducted were not particularly kind to him. The ward of Dithers the Bendith Y Mamau, he was not what anyone in their right mind would consider cared for. Thin, gaunt, and covered head to toe in boyish dirt, he was slightly malnourished, rarely cleaned, and relegated to a cot of hay on a cold, chalky stone floor at night.

Despite this, Ewan—still as quiet and complaint free as ever—managed to find something worthwhile in everything about his life. Today, for example, was the day that Dithers was taking him along on a hunt. It would be a great day—Ewan knew it in his heart. There was no breeze to give away his scent and it was still early enough in the season that the Texas sun had yet to choke the air with hundred-degree heat. Ewan crouched silently in tall grass, crawling on all fours, so close to the ground that his deerskin tunic was the only thing separating flesh from soil.

Dithers’s head poked through the grass behind him—the Bendith clearly much better at hiding than Ewan. He sniffed the air. Crawling up beside Ewan, he gestured deliberately. Two bunny-eared fingers atop his head. A hopping fist. A finger across the mouth. Two fingers to the eyes. A point to a nearby tree. Rabbit.

Ewan nodded.

BANG!

A sound clattered over the hill, echoing through the woods. Ewan looked up.

Bang! Sputtersputtersputtercough.

They listened intently, hoping the wind would carry a sound or two. Dithers perked up. Crushed gravel and a few mechanical ticks. A devilish smile crept slowly across his lips, revealing a twisted row of teeth overgrown with yellow plaque and specks of rotting animal flesh. Ewan’s eyes grew wide with excitement. The sound was unmistakable now.

“Campers?” Ewan asked excitedly.

Dithers nodded, bringing a stiff, shushing finger to his mouth. “Campers,” he whispered. He paused for a second, trying to plan through his unbridled exhilaration. Think, think, think. What to do? Who to tell? “Quick!” he said. “Get on my back.”

Ewan sprang to his feet, bolting to Dithers, who in turn threw his arm around Ewan’s waist, slinging him over his back like a sack. Wrapping his arms tightly around the Bendith’s thick, burly neck, Ewan held on for dear life. The Bendith lunged forward like a firing rocket, bounding off rocks and fallen logs, staying airborne as long as possible. His clawed hands grasped branches, swinging them ever higher, racing upward, until the two soared limb to limb some twenty-five feet above the ground.

There it was, along an old, abandoned back road in the distance: an ancient, avocado green Volkswagen Thing. This boxy, angular, postwar convertible monstrosity puttered along with its top down, a pair of scantily dressed, tattooed twenty-somethings arching their backs over the folded-down canvas roof, sunning themselves as their male companions sat smoking up front. The car overflowed with camping gear and there was no doubt where they were headed. Campers called it Devil’s Whisper Rock. The local fae had another name for it.

The Great Stage.

This was the Hill Country, thick with trees, dense with brush. It was still a mostly untamed wild yet to see any real development. The land was almost virginal, rich with energy. Much of that energy settled and flowed through a valley between two large hills, collecting into something of an ephemeral river—a bubbling stream of magic pooling at a rocky outcropping where the veil was thin. On moon-soaked nights, appearing before mortals was easier there than any other place in the region. Stories, passed down from person to person, evolved over time into modern legend about the things you could see and hear at Devil’s Whisper Rock—sometimes in the hushed tones of someone afraid to be taken as crazy, other times in the boisterous drunken chorus of someone shouting, “You’ll never believe what I saw once!”

It was a night much like tonight . . . most of those stories began. More often than not, the stories were just fragments of dreams the teller would swear were real. But then, there were the other times.

Times like tonight. Dithers would see to that.

His smile grew wide enough to swallow Ewan whole. He came to an abrupt stop atop a hulking branch that looked out over the valley. “You smell that, boy?”

Ewan sniffed the air, smelling nothing but Dithers’s sweltering, rotten breath. He shook his head, despite being out of Dithers’s line of sight. “No.”

“You’ll catch wind of it soon enough. It’s strong stuff. Pungent.” Dithers sniffed at the subtle wafts of smoke on the breeze.

“What is it?” asked Ewan.

“It’s the smell of a weak mind. Slow. Lethargic. Easy to spook. It makes it easier to see us.”

“Why would we want them to see us? I thought we were supposed to stay hiding. Me more than anyone else.”

“Normally, yes. You more than anyone else. But not tonight. Tonight we hunt.” Dithers paused, thinking for a moment. “Here’s what I want you to do. I want you to run along and collect a few of my friends. Do you think you can do that?”

“Uh-huh!” Ewan spat out eagerly.

Dithers slid down the trunk slowly.

“Okay,” said Dithers over his shoulder, the poetry of his words becoming melody and the melody of his words becoming magic. “Four friends I task you to bring to me, and four friends you shall find. Tarry not, speak not a word, and every order you must mind. First race on through the meadow, then over the limestone hills, to fetch for me my closest friend, the Buber, Nibbling Nils. Tell to him the details, then quickly on your way, for three more friends you are sure to fetch before the end of day. Then on down the foothill, and over through the yard, and fetch for me my other friend, Aufhocker Eberhard. Then on to Dragana, that dancing girl you like, and tell to her that her favorite song she shall dance again tonight. But not all my friends you’ve found just yet, for there is one last still, find for me the elusive one, the Shadow we call Bill. And once all four you’ve told at last what we shall do tonight, the six of us will have our fun and hunt by the moonlight.” Dithers smiled and nodded, looking back at Ewan. The magic was clearly seeping in; he could tell by the look in Ewan’s eyes. “Now, who are you gonna bring me?”

Ewan gazed upward, searching for the names. “Nibbling Nils, Bill the Shadow, Dragana, and Eberhard.”

“And if you see anyone else?”

“Keep running.”

“Right. And if anyone asks you a question, what do you tell them?”

“Nothing.”

“Good. Now, go get ’em, boy.”

Ewan hopped off Dithers’s back, tearing off on his quest. He knew the way; he’d been to the haunts of all four so many times he could run it blindfolded. Dithers hadn’t a single doubt in his mind about Ewan getting back in time. He was a good kid, hungry to prove himself. But now it was Dithers’s time to shine; he needed to stalk this new prey, keeping any other fairies away until nightfall. Tonight he was going to prove his worth to his friends; tonight would be a fine hunt. Tonight.

TONIGHT THEY WERE hunting campers! And Dithers trusted him enough for a special mission all his own. This was the most exciting thing ever to happen to Ewan. He wasn’t going to screw it up. Not one bit.

Well-worn animal trails honeycombed the forest, all of which he knew like a good cabbie knows side streets. The problem wasn’t how to get to the four haunts he was assigned—it was how to get there without crossing the haunts of others. Some were frightening, others charming. A few were even fairly tricksy. The one he was most afraid of running across, however, was the Old Man. The Old Man was ancient; the Old Man was wise; and worst of all, the Old Man loved humiliating others. There was nothing the Old Man would love more than to ruin the hunt. Ewan could not let that happen. So he could not go anywhere near the Old Man’s hunting grounds.

Stupid Old Man. He was going to ruin everything.

Okay, stop thinking about him, Ewan thought. He knew better than to focus his thoughts on a spirit as powerful as that. Some spirits can be summoned just by saying their names aloud, others just by thinking about them. He huffed and puffed his way up the hill, rounding the top, almost running smack into someone. OH CRAP! The Old Man! Ewan was cooked. He just knew it.

The Old Man smiled down at him, a mischievous expression on his wrinkled face. His skin was a coppery brown; his hair was long, knotted, and jet black, streaked with stray grays; and despite his apparent age, his muscles were firm and taut. He wore a deerskin tunic much like the one Ewan was wearing—only adorned with more fur and soiled from years of outdoor living. “Hello, Ewan. Don’t worry, I’m not going to give away your secret.”

“What secret?”

The Old Man raised an arm and wryly pointed a stiff finger past the hill. “I believe you’ll find Nils over in that direction.” He smiled shrewdly, then folded in upon himself, transforming into a coyote. A foot taller than the average coyote, its salt-and-pepper mane was thick, full, and glistened when struck by the sun. Trotting off, he disappeared behind a tree, never to emerge from the other side.

Ewan couldn’t wait until he was old enough to learn that trick.

Nibbling Nils. Ewan regained focus and once again took to the trails, eager to find himself the crotchety old Buber before the crotchety old Buber found him instead.