An Artificial Night

Blind Michael rode out of the same darkness, which suddenly seemed much darker. His armor was made of ivory and bone, polished mirror-bright, and his horse was vast and black with hooves of steel. I tried to tell myself that it was just an illusion, that he was nothing but another Firstborn, but it was too late. The glory of him slammed into me, and I was His.

He pulled His horse to a stop in front of us, smiling benevolently. I wanted to run to Him and bow, begging for His love, His attention—His blessing. Part of me knew it was nothing but an enchantment, but that didn’t matter. He was my god, as ancient and terrible as the sky, and I was His to abuse as He saw fit. I still couldn’t move, and that tiny, dying part of me was glad. He’d have my fealty soon enough. I didn’t have to give it to him before he took it from me.

“My children,” He rumbled, “lend me your eyes.” His words were my commandments. I closed my eyes, murmuring the incantation they taught me while I waited in the mist. I felt my vision fragment, and when I opened my eyes, I was looking at a remade world. Every member of the Hunt saw through my eyes, and I saw through theirs. Blind Michael was true to His name, but He’d found a way around His lack of sight: He saw through His children. All of us.

“And now, my children, now we Ride,” He said, and smiled, spreading the darkness in front of Him like a curtain as He turned His horse and urged it to a gallop. The Riders followed, dragging the captive children. They pushed their way past me, and I found myself falling back toward the rear of the herd. My thoughts cleared as Blind Michael drew farther away, giving my much-abused common sense a chance to scream. He wasn’t a god. He was a madman.

I didn’t have much control over my own body, but I might have enough to throw myself from the horse. If I fell hard enough, they’d have to leave me; I’d have until he Rode again to try to get away. I tensed, preparing to fall—and a passing Rider placed his hand on my back, urging me onward. It was too late. All my chances to escape were gone, blown out just like my candle. Game over.

The Ride made its way into darkness, flashes of the landscape flickering around us like Christmas lights. We weren’t riding in a real place. We were moving between the human world and the Summerlands, occasionally breaking out of the dark and into places I remembered. The docks flashed by, neon and tourists and the smell of salt; a cobwebbed forest filled with shifting faerie lights; the Castro, blaring dance music and the throng of bodies. The scenes shifted quickly, fading before there was time to sort one from the other.

My fractured vision magnified the strangeness of the landscape, the shared perspectives making it feel like I was watching the world through a prism. The individual viewpoints melted together as we Rode, making the world into something deeper and wilder than anything I’d seen before. It wasn’t natural yet, but I knew that it would be, when the Ride was done and Blind Michael took me as his bride. Oberon help me. We were nearing the end of our journey; I could feel it in the air, and every step we took brought me a little closer to being His. If I was already lost, why was I still so afraid?

We flickered back into the mortal world, racing down a street I knew: the road through the center of Golden Gate Park, flanked by jogging trails and tangled foliage. Pixies flashed past, pinpoints of light that did nothing to break the darkness. I’d never seen a night like this before. It was too unreal and half-drawn for the human world, too solid and bitter for Faerie. I’d never seen a night like this . . . but I’d never ridden with a mad Firstborn before, either. This was Blind Michael’s world.