Shadow Zone: The Schattenreich, #4

Chapter 1

The room spun. I sat at an enormous round table covered with the usual things—food, plates, cups, candles. A bullet-shaped glass container half full with rice pilau—also enormous, a centerpiece suitable for a giant—bulged up from the middle. A man’s head poked out of the rice. He chortled as the others sitting around the table held bowls out and pushed on a handle to dispense the rice. Their features swam in and out of focus, and I couldn’t tell whether they were animal, vegetable, or mineral, let alone human.

A man with Mongolian features stood a short distance away, going at a chopping block with an enormous cleaver. Palm-sized shrimps with human heads leapt out of his way, chased by the hard thud of blade hitting wood. Each had a long quivering whisker. The chatter from the dinner guests squealed like broken glass ground underfoot.

A man sat next to me. His dark hair hung in loose ringlets, and tufts of gray hair clung to his temples like mold. His loose, porous skin was lined, framing blue gray eyes that watched me. The eyes were my father’s. He held out his plate. Do you like bacon? The strips on the plate sizzled and popped. The bacon smell made my stomach churn. It was the one thing I could always tempt your brother with when he was little. He hated meat right from the start. Rather cruel of me, wasn’t it?

You’re not Death, I said. The words sounded hard.

He clamped a piece of bacon between his teeth. Blue globs like pearled jelly appeared on his face. Oh, bother, he said and brushed them away with a flick of his fingers. They disappeared. He finished his slow methodical chewing. I looked around the table. We were now alone.

No, I’m not. He won’t be here to greet you, he said. Ankou has no access here.

He watched me, waiting for the question I didn’t want to ask.

Why are you here? I asked him.

Wrong question, ain’t it?

I know where we are.

He inclined his head a slight degree.

Look. I don’t know who you are, but we must be related. You have my father’s eyes. But if you’re here, then you’re dead. I just got stabbed, and I’m dead, too.

He laughed and pointed downward, moving his arm in a sweeping arc. She wouldn’t be carrying us if you were, now would she, lass?

I looked where he indicated. The table, the room-that-spun, and the two of us rode on the back of an iridescent-scaled body, long and sinuous as it moved, serpent-sleek. It had a horned ram’s head. As it turned its head briefly to us, I saw the face; a lovely face. Compassionate.

She’s beautiful. But—

Melusine. We call her the Smoke Dragon. You really don’t know much, do you?

I fought the urge to grab the table and grip it tight enough to turn my knuckles white. Knowledge is coin there in Ande-dubnos, the man told me once. Who was he? Did I love him? The feeling surged, deep and strong. Oh, yes. His name…I couldn’t remember…any names. Is that what happened when you died? We can start with who you are.

Just another traveler. Thought we could get to know each other better on the ride. Might be the only chance we have…for a while. His smile, which he likely intended to be sensuous, edged into leer territory.

Just another traveler. My father had once described himself that way to me. It seemed so long ago.

And what do you want from me?

The ride is smoother than you would expect, he said.

You’re…my father’s brother, my uncle.

Smart lady. Half-brother. Niehls. Glad to see you again. The last time you were just a wee thing; you’d just emerged from your mother’s womb. You and your brother Kilhian had just killed her.

I shivered and lowered my head. What were you doing there?

Paying my last respects, he said.

I looked up. He kept trying to dislodge a sliver of bacon from his teeth.

You don’t look anything like the rest of my family.

"I bear a strong resemblance to my mother. You and Kilhian inherited some quite nice features from Juliette." His voice softened when he said her name. My mother’s name.

Where are we going?

He nodded. Took you long enough. That was the question.

I waited. He sat there. Well? I raised my hands and flexed them in frustration.

Feisty, aren’t you? No wonder you’ve got all those men chasing you. He laughed. Druids in love. Can’t blame them a bit.

Before we continue with the Caitlin Admiration Society, can you stop answering in riddles?

Brilliant. You remember your name—do try and hold onto that when you’re in the Dreams. He gestured around us again. We’re already in the Dreams. But you’re going deep. Very deep. His lined face became serious. I gave you your name, you know.

Which name? My mouth clamped shut.

’Twas the least I could do. I loved your mother, long before she laid eyes on Basti. Never had a chance after that. Was that the way with you, too? Captured at first glance? His leer became more pronounced.

I chuffed out a sigh.

I thought so. Well, well. Things are turning out at least as interesting as I imagined. The blue jelly blobs reappeared, this time on his arm, bigger now, and began to inch upwards. He glanced at them and then back at me.

It’s you, isn’t it? I forced the question between gritted teeth.

He feigned ignorance, raising both eyebrows, not just the one, and not as elegantly as…I didn’t even get to say goodbye.

What’s me?

All of this. Screwing up my life. Separating my brother and me at birth. Hiding me from my father.

Now you’re being wicked. Time for me to go. I do look forward to meeting you in the flesh, so to speak. Subjectively, for you, it will be a short forever before that is possible.

I jutted out my chin in defiance but felt frustration, anger, and angst conspire to produce tears.

My intentions are not as bad as you might believe. To prove it, two words of advice: keep moving. You’ll emerge from the Dreams eventually. You’ll emerge even if you don’t. But the former is a better way to get through, Niehls said, his voice the low drone of a teacher instructing a wayward student. He bent his head to the blue jelly on his arm and licked it up. He closed his eyes. And then he did that Cheshire cat thing and faded away. But the bastard didn’t leave me with a smile.

Chapter 2

The Smoke Dragon doesn’t bother to land. She slithers around me, her scales surprisingly soft. Melusine whispers as she deposits me amidst the scales she scatters in all directions, fleeting pieces of rainbow that wink out, leaving me in a heavy mist of darkness. I turn slowly, searching for a telltale flicker of light, a form, a name, to guide me.

Womp, it says.

A halo of light, like shining a flashlight through a drizzle of rain in the darkness, shows me a beast-man; a homunculus of misshapen body parts with a wide mouth and thick, fleshy tongue, and sewn on wings poking out at weird angles.

Womp.

His cry reverberates through me, setting off a sympathetic vibration as something within separates and edges away from me, cream rising. Cold seeps in in its place. And emptiness.

Womp-o-womp.

The beats stretch out and elongate, and I am dissipating, particles of me joining the darkness-fog. Keep moving. Words from an evil man. But he wants something still. Something from me. Who am I? Don’t matter. Keep moving. I call my soul back, draw its disparate droplets into me and…run. Running. Leaping, Soaring. Away from the Eater.

I run through a building pocked from gunfire and mortar blasts. Screams burst out of rooms where I glimpse men burning other men, cutting off strips of skin, the bound prisoners shitting themselves as they bleed. Their screams are devoid of any hope except one—that Death will find them quickly. But Ankou can’t reach them here. I know his name.

I hurry to a castle with jagged spires. Its walls shine like metal but feel soft as flesh. It fills the landscape, forcing me inside. I run past rooms lit by feeble, rank flames where men rut with each other, their faces bestial, besotted. Men with grossly distorted pink members hard and flapping against their bellies stand before women with their mouths in grotesque circles and legs spread in welcome, with fingers widening the lips of their genitals, groans and screams and moaning the music of their labors.

I shudder at passion mixed with depravity, am transfixed with shame and horror at my own lust as I slow, shaking, and lower my head to avoid the shower of sweat and semen.

A-womp.

I turn. He is there, behind me, extremities wriggling in time to a tongue lapping at the fluids; his double-headed member, flushed a deep purple, prods me. Keep moving.

I jog, that muscles-burning, brain-searing, legs-pumping movement, all will and no joy. Just keep going. The other Dreams pass by. They are full of all the things that lurk under the facade of human consciousness. They are full of pain and need and hate and lust. Where are the beautiful Dreams? Where are my wings? I pause.

I fly over an ancient crumbling castle, wolf and bird in one, the sun sparkling on my fur-covered wings. Darkness shifts.

A big-ass stage, me in my ropers and a big flouncy skirt, singing, and it sounds good for a change. Crazy, country, wonderful, good.

My vision clears. Ahead, something. One more time. I am a wolf and running through the forest. Not a dream, not entirely.

Running. I come to a field of tall grass, quaking but silent. I wade in, gliding hands over the stiff flat blades, looking down at the cuts they make on my arms and hips, tiny incisions, blood beading up. The pain feels good; it feels like life.

They move silently. I only feel their feet pounding a steady rhythm in front of me. Then I see them as they push through the grass. Distended bellies and skeletal arms crowd next to piggy eyes peering out of bloated folds of fat and beautifully sculpted but too thin bodies with hollow staring eyes. They’ve come a-calling, all carrying knives and forks, and the pangs of hunger distort their faces. They’ve come for me. I turn back.

Wompa womp.

No. It can’t be. The Eater, still there, gaining on me, he will not have me. My choice, to have my soul chewed and violated or be devoured by Gluttony, Starvation, and Vanity.

Shit choice. I grab at the base of a clump of grass, screaming. The edges slash my palms. Tug and pull. I grunt loudly. A few come free, sending me stumbling back.

Womp.

I gain my balance and wave swords of sharp grass. Dash forward. Cut and hack. My arms in searing pain as the hungry ones carve out tiny bits of my flesh, here a chunk, there a flake. I yell as I run. Run. Keep running. Move.

A vast forest appears on the horizon, grows nearer. Endless trees rank in rows and crowd in clumps, tall ones, pines, birches and rowans clothed in skeletal white bark with dark leafy crowns. I put my head down. Charge. Emerge from the field. I leave the ravenous and the Eater behind to feed on each other. Bon appetit.

I stop and turn. Here I am, at the edge. The space between. The trees and I breathe together. What do the trees symbolize? I asked him once. Our souls—sacredness, profanity—everything that makes us human, he answered.

This then, is left. After the flesh boils away, here at the very edge of the Dreams, the deepest ones. These Dreams should never come into the light, must never be known. The trees guard them here, rein them in. For the most part.

A memory flickers. Another place. The sea of Dreams, where I surfed with him, that man, as he molded waves of hope and promise and sang his song of life and love. Wild and free. But what is his name?

The branches beckon with a soft percussion of leaves. A wisp of shadow breaks off from me, a thin smoky tendril with a pronounced canine shape. It bounds away through the trees.

Go, wolf; run all the way home; find them.

Just another traveler. I sway and sing my song of love, my will to live, guided by the atonal beat of a thousand branches. I tell of a billion stars in vast galaxies that hold all the secrets we have yet to discover—you got it, you know it, uh huh—a universe abundant, not safe, no, you can die and have your fucking soul eaten, but full of wonder.

My song continues. I add harmony. Hope. The children I want to have, beautiful girls with dark eyes full of wonder, the universe at their feet.

I don’t know how to shape the Dreams, not like those men of shadow, but I can—and do—send a ripple backwards. Just a tiny one, but I see it, a wave of circular emotion, spreading and propagating through a field of knife-edged grass.

Just another traveler. I head into the forest.

There is no path here, no way, no earth compressed by any that have come before. Don’t dally, Liebling, he said as I lay dying in his arms, just make your way back to us as quick as you can. Easier said than done. Then I see it, fluttering, and hurry ahead.

I tear off a long strip of creamy yellow toilet paper and use it to stop the bleeding, mopping up my blood and all the foreign blood mixed with the semensweatexcrementspit. And tears. Then, I get it. It sears my flesh, the knowledge. This isn’t just a forest, no. It is his forest.

It is what lies beyond the Dreams. Blessed forgetfulness. Death is a forester. Don’t dally, Liebling. The trail Ankou had marked out for me glows faintly. I move along.

Chapter 3

He found me as I stumbled out, bereft of emotion, alone. I repeated the mantra of my journey through the forest once more. Where am I. Who am I. It had lasted a lifetime or no time at all. No sound, no smell. Souls don’t smell. Souls yearn.

Ankou saluted me, two fingers to his forehead, and then gestured in front of him. He wore no hat and didn’t have his curved iron. "Let us walk a-ways together. Katarin."

Is that my name?

It is the one I have given you.

Ankou, the being who embodied Death, had his own, private name for me. I wasn’t thrilled about that. His appearance matched the one I had last seen as I lay bleeding out—a devastatingly attractive man but still cadaver-thin and tall—the ears ended in subtle points. His demeanor suggested antiquity, but his movements and face belied any suggestion of age. His hair blew back in a gentle breeze that swirled around his body, which was clad in black and gray, of course. His clothes bore decorations of silver and gold to match the highlights in his ankle-length hair and those dark eyes rimmed in silver.

You control the wind like you control people’s deaths? I asked him, fascinated, despite a lingering dread in the presence of the being I had feared since childhood.

A sad smile crossed his face. Was it just for my benefit? He had helped me find my way through his forest, but I was unconvinced it was a good idea to place trust in Death.

A minor skill.

You look different. Why?

You have hated me your whole life. Your death allowed me to redeem myself, and… He paused as we stopped at a crossroads.

I looked back the way we had come. No landscape or path. No forest, nothing but horizon, bleak against a gray sky. The way straight ahead and the way that crossed it were also bare of landmarks.

And? I prompted.

And find a form that pleases you, my lady. Ankou took a shallow bow.

This one is a remarkable improvement on how you showed yourself to me the first two and a half decades I’ve known you, I said.

He acknowledged my comment with a crooked smile.

This is it, then. It is time for you to take me with you. Where do we go?

This is where we part, he said. I must attend. And you must return to—

Life. I wish I could. I tried once again to remember names, but found I couldn’t. Not yet. At least he had given me a name.

It is your decision.

My decision…where I will spend my death?

Your decision about how you will live, he said. What your choice will be.

I don’t understand. Didn’t you help me die? I died in the arms of…one I loved. But Death had eased my pain, had made it easy, had banished my fear.

Not a true death.

I died, but I’m not truly dead. Yep. That makes sense, I said.

You’ll have to make your way through the Between Lands alone, I’m afraid.

I walked through your forest. Are we all planted there? Good guys in front, bad guys in back? Tall trees are souls who count, aren’t they?

His smile radiated true warmth. You understand. He twirled his arm in the direction of where we had come from. The forest emerged, as if from behind a mirage. The Lands Beyond begin there.

Lands Beyond?

My domain. He waved his arm. "I also have some control over the Between Lands, but it is a more variable landscape."

I shrugged.

At first, I hoped there would be some who I could keep with me. But over the years, the centuries…there was but one and then… He shook his head. You and your family and your ancestors, all the ones back to those first priests, the ones who bargained for power—none of them had your power to see through to the heart of things.

I’m good at figuring things out. You know, analyzing data; it’s a natural talent.

Death laughed, both a rich and hollow sound. No, that’s not it. You’re the one.

One what?

The apex.

"Oh, that. That Anam thing. If you say so."

I do.

I squinted at him, wondering if I could see beneath his facade. Why?

Why what?

Why do you want to keep me with you?

Blood is powerful. Your blood, especially.

Anam. Anamorphosis Was that it? "I don’t know what Anam means."

"Soul. Eneff. Anima. Many languages, same meaning. Anam crosses all veils. You embody it."

Figure it out. My ancestors bargained for power. One of them broke their bargain and so we were all cursed. My father’s brother wanted what I have. Anam. The apex of the life-soul-tree was where power concentrated. Power over the veil.

If I died giving birth, like my mother and the women in my family before her, then my girls would inherit it. But if I were the apex, the last one, then they would be free. Wouldn’t they? Would they have power without the curse? That was something any number of entities, human or otherwise, would like to control. Could everything really be that simple?

I get to go back? To live again?

He nodded. Have you chosen an Aspect?

You know about all that? I felt empty and weary and would have liked to just sink into a small insignificant heap on the ground for a few seconds or even an eternity.

It’s what the lot of you seem to enjoy doing. If one of you has a particular affinity for the Aspect you’ve chosen, it becomes a significant part of your…self.

Oh. Cool. I picked that guy who turns himself into a swan to be with his lover.

Ankou’s smile graced his face with an unearthly beauty. "Oenghus mac Oc. Nice."

I sighed. Glad you approve. So which way should I go from here?

He turned sideways, held out his arms as if he were about to perform that Greek dance the men do and then lowered them. Walk that way, he crossed one arm over his chest and pointed straight ahead. "Just follow it until the end. You will pass the Lecksteine along the way. Before the end they will become irresistible."

Salt licks? Like for deer in winter? And what happens if I taste them?

They represent the guilt of your past. You will live a portion of it again, once for each time you partake.

I shivered.

That way, he crossed his other arm over and pointed down the intersecting road, leads to a less untimely trek, The Paths of the Dead, but I fear your control of your craft is not yet sufficient to overcome its…hurdles. And there, he twisted his head in the opposite direction, may take you where you most want to go.

How do you know where I want to go?

Ankou unfolded himself. It’s what we live on.

You live on snatches of memories?

What you retain from the Dreams. We feed on them.

You feed on the Dreams? I thought it was blood and lust that satiated you.

What do humans most dream about based on your recent journey?

Ankou retained his appearance, but I imagined I saw the immaterialness lurking beneath it. Always changing. Always hungry. Everything was hungry here.

You’ve given me important information. I assume you want something in return?

He laughed. It now had the sound of a symphony orchestra—but slightly out of tune. "That was for free. There will be ample opportunity for me to collect from you, Katarin."

While I have you in a talkative mood, tell me: where does that name come from?

Some special ones I collect receive a name from me. It marks you. He bowed again. The name Death calls you with is your true name. His eyes sparkled with silver.

Katarin—Kati—that private name from a man I loved like the smell of an early summer morning sitting on the porch, the smell of simple pleasure and the yearning for it to continue. He knows my true name. The man I love is Death’s right-hand man.

Ankou didn’t say anything.

"What’s his true name?"

It is a name of power. What do you offer in return?

You gave him my name.

He paid for it, pays for it still.

You partook of my life’s blood.

He bent his head in acknowledgement. Exquisite, it was. He leaned down and whispered, his silvery hair caressing my face. The name fled from my consciousness as soon as he spoke it, but it lingered there, deep. I knew somehow it would return at my bidding.

Use it wisely. The name compels.

My true name had not been used to compel, but it did all the same. This druid crap is hard on a body. I think I’ll head that way. I crossed my arm towards the path he had indicated would be the one where I most wanted to go. I took a few steps away from him.

Until we meet again, Katarin. Fare thee well.

I ran fast down the path, stopped and turned. Ankou held up two fingers spread in a vee, an easily understood symbol both in his world and mine.

You, too, Ankou. Don’t let the job get you down.

He saluted me in that flippant way, two fingers to his forehead with a slight bow of his head. And then he vanished.

I hate it when they do that.

The path, dusty and long, stretched out in front of me.

The Between Lands.

Dusty and long, one foot after another. I saw movement. Compared to the nothing I’d been staring at for the past…hours, days, centuries, it was a veritable hive of activity, caused by something; or things. As I got closer I wasn’t so sure I wanted to. They were alive—at least as far as anything was alive in this place. The Between Lands, Ankou had called them. Maybe these things were a form of Between Life.

They came up to my knee on average. One was taller. He—or it—might have been the one in charge. He acted like it. But none of the others paid him any heed as he ordered them around with loud grunts and slaps to the portion of their anatomy that normally would qualify as a head. They had a mossy look about them—old, dried-up moss, brown with patches of gray and green. A memory…he had mentioned them once and said they were called moss men and they controlled the borders. But the borders to what?

They were furiously throwing up a wall of sorts—a mass of mud or clay mixed with tree branches and stones. I could still clamber over if I hurried—and if I could find a way through them. They looked harmless, but had an air of malevolence about them. Did they have teeth? I edged closer, but they continued to pretend I wasn’t there. Maybe I wasn’t. I held up my hand. It looked real enough. I could see the veins, dirty fingernails—was that Hohes Venn muck?—and fingerprints.

I held both hands palm out and shouted, Stop! They ignored me. Maybe they didn’t have ears or they didn’t understand English. What was the word in Brezhoneg? "Paouez!" I screamed. One of them looked at me for a second and then looked away. It was a response. I didn’t know whether it was the language or the scream.

I’d had a lot of practice screaming recently and was getting good at it. It tore out of me, a cumulative primal scream that had gathered strength through my being drugged, dragged into a swampy fen, stabbed, and accompanied by a rude relative on a ram-headed dragon into the depths of the Dreams where I was chased by a nasty dude with a double penis. The peak was being greeted by my lifelong fear transformed into a Celtic deity oozing sexy with his every gesture who pointed me across a desolate landscape that was supposed to lead me back to life. A life I desperately wanted. But I had to get past these goons first.

As the scream tapered off, the moss men were all staring at me with beady little eyes the color of pond slime. The head honcho guy put his sticklike arms on his torso, about hip-height, right below his…head. Neckless head honcho guy reached into a satchel—I hadn’t noticed it before because it was the same color as his skin—that looked even more fungus-like. He fumbled around for a few seconds. The others looked from him, to me, to him, to me.

I wondered if I should scream again. I drew in a lungful of air, opened my mouth, and Neckless consulted with his neighbors. A huddle formed with a lot of activity that included grunts and squeaks and other sublingual mutterings. Then the whole troop disappeared in a blink. Maybe two. What was left was the six-foot high wall.

Well, I’ll be damned. Screw that.

I was halfway up the wall. Stick arms scratched and moss-covered stumpy legs kicked. I fell. Landed on my butt. Grunty chuckles came from inside the wall. For my second try, I made a running start. Fingertips reached the top of the wall, and I hauled myself up, shimmying the rest of the way while securing a firm grip on the ledge at the top—not wide but enough to grasp. I was about to swing a leg over when a dozen of the little jerks appeared at the top, slimy eyes blazing. They pushed me off. I landed in a crouch.

Frustrated and sore, I walked left. The wall went on for longer than it first appeared. I began to think it was one of those nifty illusions when one of the creatures poked his head around the corner. Not far at all.

Unless they’re building another fucking wall.

I ran. Just as I rounded the wall, it curved in front of me on both sides—and ended behind me—a solid barrier. I had no choice but to go ahead. The wall tapered to nothing as suddenly as it had formed. Looking back, nothing remained of either wall or landscape. There were just trees in back of me, in front of me, and on either side. I caught a glimpse in the darkening sky of the moss men running away.

I looked down. I was as dirty as they were and covered in mud. A few nicks and scratches showed through the grime where they had attacked me, the dried blood making a darker contrast. But blood meant life. I walked deeper into the trees.

Chapter 4

After a while, a ghostly glow appeared, but it was a while longer before I realized it was moonlight. Had I arrived in Ande-dubnos? Was that my moon? The moonlight shimmer appeared to come from a large piece of bare ground visible through a break in the trees. The sparkling light turned out to be moonlight reflected on water, a small pond agitated by a steady stream flowing out of a jumble of rocks. I bent over the surface to get a look.

Where am I. Who am I. I am Katarin—Caitlin. Caitlin von der Lahn. My reflection looked back at me. She wore a loose-fitting white dress that flowed around my skin. It felt soft as powder and fell to my thighs. A spot of color and a decent lipstick would have done wonders. And a hot shower. I dipped a mud-encrusted toe into the water. Not mountain stream frigid, but no sun-warmed Texas chalk pool either. All right. I could live with that.

I pulled off the dress carefully, afraid of damaging my only armor against nakedness. There was no one here, but I felt better for having it. On the night of the Maifest, I was nearly caught in a Wild Hunt. A flimsy white dress was better than nothing.

Water slid over my skin. It smelled pure and clean. I massaged the mud from my hands and feet and the rest of me—my breasts, between my legs—it felt awfully good. Not as good as feeling Hagen there, his skin rubbing against mine, turning, slipping, sliding. My fingers were no substitute for him, but they helped ease my longing, made me feel like a woman again.

The craving was intense. I ached to be back with the man I loved. I didn’t get to say goodbye or throw my arms around those shoulders.

Or to nestle my head between Gus’s shoulders, strong shoulders that had borne me up so many times. I wondered what holding Gus up close would be like—a slow dance with a soul I knew as well as my own. I banned those thoughts and replaced them with memories of slow sweet kisses from Heinrich, my Scottish wildcat, his voice purring in my ear, his day’s growth of beard rubbing against my breasts.

After pleasuring myself, I dove deep. As hard as I kicked, I couldn’t find bottom. But the water felt so good and real. And it had brought back the names. An urgent need to breathe made me kick upwards, arms reaching for the moon.

As my hands broke the surface, someone grabbed my arms, pulling me the rest of the way. I heaved in a breath, a flood of panic freezing my thoughts. Pale white the faces. The slight slant of their eyes reminded me of the new Ankou and of Brionne, the lanky Tud I had met at the Sea of Dreams. These Tud had none of their elegance. They carried rough expressions I had no trouble deciphering. Caught! Idiot.

Let her go. She’s not going anywhere. Just yet.

I wriggled out of the Tud’s grasp and kicked backwards using his body as leverage, trying not to think about which parts my feet had just touched. I swirled around in the water to see who had spoken.

He squatted in the middle of the jumble of rocks. A great rack of horns adorned his head, poking out of a tangle of hair, both braided and straight, which fell to below his lean, muscular shoulders. His chest was laced with scars. He had on a loincloth, or perhaps it was a kilt of skins.

Who are you, he demanded, to enter my forest unbidden?

Something snarled in the darkness at the edge of the pond. Something more bestial.

They’re hungry. But they’re also picky. They won’t eat just anything.

I swam further away from the sounds. Caitlin, I said.

Is that a species?

It’s a name.

Names are good. But I don’t know yours. Were you born or made?

She’s marked, milord, said one of the Tud.

She’s Ankou’s, said the one who had grabbed me.

I can see that. But she lives, so she can’t be his yet. At least she knows something about pleasure. His nasty smile made me shiver.

Did you enjoy the show? I tried to sound bold and disgusted, but only the disgusted part came through.

The Tud who had pulled me upwards sniffed loudly. She’s human.

One of the black-dark creatures barked.

Are those dogs? I asked, curious despite the terror pooling in my bowels. The water now felt icy cold and much too deep.

They’re my hunting hounds, the stag-man replied.

You’re Cernunnos, aren’t you? He was one of those few deities considered pan-Celtic, although not much was really known about him. I already felt I knew more about him than I wanted to.

Tell me who your parents are, he said. And who you serve.

I’m just passing through.

I’ll have it one way or another. But why not tell me?

And if I do, will you let me go?

Enough insubordination. Bring her.

They pulled me from the water. I wrenched myself free to grab my dress, bringing a loud laugh from the Tud. I looked down. Cernunnos, or one of them, had clothed me in an identical dress. It clung to my wet skin, emphasizing the outline of my body. They started to drag me away, but I pulled back.

Let go. I’ll go with you.

Cernunnos threw back a hand. Let her go. I’ve got the hounds. Then he vanished.

I stumbled after them through thick trees and a deep bed of leaves. Summer waned here in the forest of Ande-dubnos. A tree trunk the width of a moderate-sized split-level home appeared, its branches disappearing above. We passed into darkness under one of the thick roots. The Tud crowded in behind me, preventing any chance of escape.

I’ll give you another try. Cernunnos squatted on a large protuberance that looked like a polished wood throne at one end of the hollowed out tree. His hounds trotted up beside him and sat as if awaiting instructions. Bring her closer.

Hands pushed me forward. He gestured, and the dress I wore dissolved to nothing. I was naked and still dripping. He looked me over, and my skin tingled in response. The Lord of the Hunt had some potent sexual hoodoo going on with his dark eyes and powerful torso.

I can’t tell who you belong to, he said, his voice hoarse.

I was afraid it was hoarse with want. The Tud behind me gurgled and groaned, sounds that I felt, like ripples in the air.

I don’t belong to anyone.

No? That means you’re mine for the taking.

Is this always how you entertain visitors?

Cernunnos shifted from his squat to sit on the throne and flicked a finger at me. Is that what you are? How do I know you haven’t been sent?

I’m just a traveler. Ankou showed me this path. At least it was a path… Had Ankou led me into a trap? But why would he do that? He could have taken me with him. But the moss men…someone had ordered them there. Were those your creatures—

Border patrol.

A laugh bubbled up from the inappropriate part of my brain. It’s not funny, Cat. Not wanting to irritate Cernunnos further was appropriate behavior. I shook my head. Will you tell me what you want?

Information first, pleasure later. He pointed at the Tud. Leave us.

They vanished into the darkness—smoke without fire.

Now tell me. Who do you serve?

Can I have my dress back?

It reappeared, draping me in a thin film.

I don’t serve anyone. Especially not anyone here. Does that help?

Cernunnos eyed me with distrust. If that’s so, how did you get here? You are not known to us.

You are not known to us. Cathubodua had said those same words to me the night she told me I would have to die for my children.

Caitlin von der Lahn.

Another of the blood. Cernunnos sat back. I can’t afford to have you running through my forest whenever you want. Unless you decide to serve me.

I’ll give it due consideration. Now will you give me leave to go? I haven’t done anything other than trespass. I smoothed the dress down but let my hands drop when I realized it was exciting Cernunnos—something poked out from underneath his kilt.

He laughed, a deep rumble filled with power. You have misunderstood me. I will have your service now.

Or what?

"Or you’ll have to come up with an appropriate compensation for crossing my lands."

This time I did laugh. I don’t want to serve at gunpoint. I don’t think you want that kind of servitude. Instead of sounding powerful, my voice sounded small and scared.

What I want…you need time to think about that.

The Tud were suddenly behind me again.

Throw her below.

Chapter 5

Moss golems—that’s what I called them—brought me hard bread and watered wine. Never enough. I wasn’t sure if I needed to eat or drink, but I did need the distraction. A periodic creaking of the thick hairy roots that formed my prison served to mark the time—days, weeks, maybe—I had little to occupy my mind besides dread.

How long will Cernunnos keep me here stopped being the litany. It was replaced with: no one will come for me—not even Ankou. Moss golems weren’t anything to be feared, at least in small quantities. I could squash one of them if I was angry enough. But they weren’t very good company.

With forced solitude came the memories. My father. My friends. I thought about them all constantly, leaning against the tree and listening to it breathe. I remembered the men I loved and also why I loved them. Hagen. And Heinrich. Longing for them edged into unbearable so I retreated to another place.

I dredged up memories of Gus; his many words of encouragement, his expressions of puzzlement, of happiness, his thick blond hair, his backbreaking hugs, were layered in the rock formation called habit. His solidity in my life had always pushed back despair. My desire to be with him—to be a part of his life—to love him; those were the outlawed dreams that fueled my struggle against depression.

And in between, my thoughts kept returning to the vision Cathubodua had shown me. Two little girls in white dresses chasing butterflies. My heart’s desire. Against that Cernunnos didn’t stand a chance.

The Lord of the Hunt must have gleaned he wouldn’t be able to break me, at least not quick enough for his purposes. One ‘morning’ as I woke after another dreamless period of uneasy sleep, he stood in front of the gnarled roots that kept me his prisoner.

There is someone I’d like you to meet, he said.

I stood to face him. Cernunnos was a half a head shorter than me, but that didn’t make him any less imposing. That close, he gave off an odor of burning wood and leaf mold.

Will you consent to give me one piece of knowledge in exchange for a few hours in the company of Godeliva? he asked.

Who is Godeliva?

My consort. And she serves me.

I wiped the sleep from my eyes, idly wondering why I would want to spend time with Godeliva. It would relieve the boredom of staring at the tree roots. That might be enough to make it worth it. What do you want to know?

How does Ankou come to mark you? Are you one of his warriors?

Me? No, milord. He says I’m special. More I don’t know. In all honesty.

He nodded as if satisfied. Good. And snapped his fingers.

I sat across from Godeliva. She wore a gown of cream and sage green. I looked down. I wore the simple white dress again. We sat at a rusted iron table in a room with walls of smoke and floor of dirt. She served me meat and apples and thick moist bread, but didn’t take anything for herself. Ande-dubnos was curiously odor-free, for the most part. Heinrich had told me that once. But the food smelled good, it smelled real, and Godeliva smelled faintly of the sea.

I came from the waking world, she said after I’d nibbled on a little bit of everything.

I watched her while drinking a glass of honeyed wine. The sweetness and the alcohol contrasted well with the richness of the grilled meat and gave me a false sense of normality.

"I gave up everything to serve him. A husband and a kingdom. The promise of children. It is how I avoided the curse."

I cleared my throat.

You are one of us, she said.

"Who is us?" My voice came out as a croak.

You are of the blood.

Her comment, spoken flatly, made me wonder…but she answered my unspoken question. Who knows whether I would have succumbed to Cathubodua’s temptation? My children for life. I didn’t know whether I was strong enough to resist. Serving Cernunnos was an alternative. One I’ve never regretted.

And your husband?

She stared at me with frank interest and without shame. Will you see it through?

What’s my alternative? Knowing that I’m the last and denying my children the chance of freedom from more than two thousand years of growing up without mothers?

She lowered her head. That is the choice I didn’t have. To bring things to an end.

"It’s not a choice I’m happy about. I like being alive. More now than ever."

But why have I never seen you before? Where have they been hiding you?

They?

Your family.

I shook my shoulders. It’s a long story. But I’m just learning about… I waved my hands around. This.

Her eyes widened, her mouth open in astonishment—or disbelief. And your apprenticeship?

I hunched my shoulders. I’m getting hands-on training. As of now.

It took her a moment or two