Boianti and Skender agree to disagree. [NOTE: I will not post any more excerpts from White Gold of Empire. I am beginning revisions and will be asking for volunteer beta readers.]
That night Arthur passed the word to his brother, and showed him the maps. Skender paced the length of the gathering barn twice before speaking. “I do not care for this.” Arthur waited, still and calm. Something more than just the undead irritated the senior Hunter. A bat fluttered out the large open doorway. Perhaps it would devour the mosquitoes plaguing the lowlands and starting to pester the home farm as well. “Two. Two unclean things move. One of the covens, the one that works near the Bauer farm, asked Shadow to guard their midsummer working. They fear something in the darkness, even on the turning of summer.”
“Perhaps because of the turning.” Arthur turned his left hand palm up. “From longer to shorter, and a new moon. They follow Wicca, as Ink at the print shop does.” He disagreed, but he saw no grounds to impose beliefs on the erring, so long as they erred on the side of the Light and peace.
“Perhaps. I care not for it.” Skender paced once again, then drew close indeed to his brother. He spoke so quietly Arthur almost could not hear. “Corava may be with child.”
“Ah.” Nothing more need be said, should be said. To do so risked the life of mother and child-to-be.
Skender stepped clear once more. “Shadow asks that a few Hunters assist him watching over the coven. He . . . has never requested such in the past.” Skender rubbed the lower half of his face, squarer and stronger than Arthur’s own. “I am inclined to agree.”
Arthur nodded. “It would not be amiss to even the balance with the workers of shadow.” The clan and the shadow workers kept no accounts, but they could not have succeeded in the Terrible Hunt without the shadow mages. No one wanted to be in debt to magic workers.
“Indeed.” Skender folded his arms. “You will not Hunt with us.”
He bared his teeth oh so slightly. “I can link with Shadow.” His brother could not, nor could Raabe work magic for the foreseeable future.
Sheer muscle slammed him into one of the heavy beams supporting the hay loft and roof. The force drove the air from his lungs and brought dust sifting down onto their heads. “Do. Not. Defy. Me.” The dim light from the main house and the stars glinted off steel in his brother’s right hand.
Fire flared in Arthur’s blood. Ice flashed through his veins even faster, and he regained control of himself. He inhaled slowly and tipped his head back, throat bared to the steel. “I refrain from your Hunt.”
The knife returned to its sheath. “You and Silver, reserve. I do not trust the taste in the wind.” With that Skender stalked away.
Arthur remained where he stood, motionless, until he heard naught save night sounds. How long since he had challenged his brother? Before the shop had opened, that much he did recall. He had survived, but recovery had required weeks. His body would not fare so well now. He closed his eyes for the briefest of moments. Movement, now, or the rage would return. It must be cleared from his blood. He bared his teeth. “Your Hunt. Not mine.”
He parked well away from the place of the disturbed graves, on the opposite side of an overgrown woodlot. The current owner no doubt thought that good stewardship equaled neglect. Arthur ghosted through the trees and overgrown brush, scowling at the overly-healthy patches of nettles. Poison ivy waited too, he suspected. A deer hurried away, and he heard the small creatures scuttling and creeping about their own business. Night birds called, and a great-horned owl voiced her opinion of matters. He smelled crushed leaves, and mud, undercut with a tease of wood smoke and cooked meat. A festive summer campfire or bonfire, probably. He shifted his attention down, studying the lower trunks of the trees.
Ah. One trail camera pointed across the faint deer path. He detoured around it. Closer to the graveyard, two very new cameras stared into the night. The scent of plastic and rubber told everything with a nose that man had been in the area. He rolled his eyes, then studied the boxes and smiled. They’d used the kind with easy-to-replace batteries. Easy to remove as well, should someone need to do so. He ghosted closer and studied the top of the closest box. He had only to add a USB link with a small video file, and the cameras would show precisely nothing for as long as needed, should it be needed. He crept in a spiral around the area of interest and found two more cameras, same model, and the one on the gate. It had already developed a problem, or so it seemed. He did not test it. There was no need, not yet.
He could just discern the new grave, and disturbed ground not far from the new one. He touched the beads in his pocket and twisted his vision for an instant. The cemetery remained hallowed, and the consecration had been renewed within the past few years. Thank You, he silently murmured. That eased one fear, perhaps.
Arthur eased away from the cemetery and turned his attention to the field. Clover or another low ground-cover crop covered the heavy soil, except for one patch. There a few sickly plants struggled to hold down the dirt, freshly churned dirt. He started to curse, then caught himself. Lady of Night, St. Michael protector of the Lady, something foul waited under the soil. How could others not smell, taste the corruption in the very air? Perhaps it was good that they could not, so they did not go poking. He did not flee, but he departed with equal care and far greater haste, not stopping until he reached the car. He cleaned his boots, changed them for a different pair, hid the stalking boots in the trunk, then drove away.
Instead of returning to the farm, he parked at one of the scenic overlooks the state had provided for those who insisted at staring into the valley instead of at the road. He stretched, then leaned against the metal of the dark car. Arms folded, Arthur studied the stars, then the glowing spill of Riverton’s lights below. Did he Hunt a mere nosferitau, or something in the guise of a nosferitau? He needed more than Silver, but could he ask? Perhaps the lone Hunter, the only one to remain on his own? Arthur snorted. No, that one had his own tasks. Did Skender even remember that he lived? Probably best not to remind him, not now. The soft night wind caressed his cheek, then murmured on its way. Traffic sounds faded as the stars moved across the sky.
(C) 2021 Alma T. C. Boykin All Rights Reserved
Cat Rotator's Quarterly 