Season of the Wild Hunt(Book 1 of The Seventh Gate series)

The Ways - pt 2

Music: Hevia - Bundsindre Reel (a favourite from Irish dancing days)

The last sliver of the old moon had set in the west when they gathered up their things and left the den in the rocks. They climbed to the broken ridge of the hill in the dark, nerves twitchy and strung tight from lack of rest. They were hungry, too, bellies grumbling, but there was nothing to be done about it.

At the brink of the hill they settled on the ground to look out.  It was hard to discern any details of the landscape, but as the dawn twilight dimmed the stars there seemed to be a higher, deeper blot of shadow towards east. By silent consent they waited, watching the stars fade away and the horizon blush pink.

"I feel something, Nya...and it's not a good feeling," Ashira whispered.

Nyani nodded agreement. The deep vibrations she had been sensing since yesterday, and all through the night, had grown stronger. She found it difficult to breathe normally, as if a tight band squeezed her chest closed. When the sun finally burst over the horizon they tensed, eyes locked onto the dark shape they had noted earlier.

An Tor Mór. The sun lit its crown first, edging inexorably down its flanks towards the lands below. Elen had been right; the flat-topped cone was unmistakable, taller and steeper than the rolling hills around it. It lay beyond the edges of the moorland.

About a mile from where they crouched, the high moor dropped off sharply to where a shallow stream carved a natural border. The heather faded out, and beyond, the land fell away in gentle, grassy undulations. Further off, stands of trees pocked the landscape until finally An Tor Mór rose out of thick woodlands blazing in autumn hues of red, gold, and rust.

Or so they guessed - it was way too far to make out individual trees - but the colours told them it was so. It was difficult to gauge the height of the Tor from this distance, and much too far to make out any shapes on its flattened summit.

"We could make it before midnight, if we walk. Earlier, if we jog some. Yes?" asked Ashira, and Nyani nodded again, swallowing in a dry throat.

"Agreed," she replied. "The sooner we get there, the sooner we can get on with it." They rose and began to make their way down the outcrop.

Half way down, a cry froze them in their tracks. At first it was not unlike a wolf call, but it did not tail off on a high, clear note. It broke and splintered into a screech that clawed at the ears, leeching terror into the tranquil dawn.

The women waited, immobilized, ears straining. Nothing...nothing...then an answering yowl. Then another, and another. The cries came from somewhere behind them.  They counted the separate voices. Nyani grabbed Ash's shoulder, white-knuckled.

"Seven?" whispered Ashira, eyes wide. They could not stand, just the two of them, against seven. "So much for good omens. They have our trail."

That jerked Nyani out of her rigid stance. She dropped to her knees, un-slinging her pack and dragging Ashira down with her.

"Quick," she hissed, "we're dumping these. Too much weight." She yanked her skirt and mantle from her pack, then the blouse, and flung them all aside. Then she ripped her heavy sleeping fur from its ties and threw it on top of the other items. "Better to freeze tomorrow than be Usonái meat today."

Ashira wasted no time, discarding her heavy clothes and sleeping-roll. The hounds had their scent, no doubt of it. It was pointless trying to dispose of the clothing and furs any better than that. They briefly checked their weapons.

"Now we run," said Nyani.

They ran. Once they had splashed across the shallow river, the going was easier without the heavy gorse and heather clutching at their legs and disguising ankle-breaking obstacles. They lengthened their stride, stretching into a long, loping gait that would eat up the miles.