I looked at the four horses Marcellus wanted me to buy. The horse-trader kept bowing and smiling and saying complimentary things about my obvious good judgement, but I faded him out. Marcellus and Livia had chosen these four horses out of the many available, and I wasn’t about to show myself up by saying something inappropriate. All I knew about horses was that they had a leg at each corner and which end to offer the sugar lumps to. The horses looked back at me with slow insolence, and the nearest one casually tried to step on my foot. I glared at Marcellus.
“How do I know the trader isn’t cheating me over the price?”
“Of course he’s cheating you,” said Marcellus. “This is the Nightside. But because Livia and I have done business with him before, he’s prepared to let us have these horses at a special, only mildly extortionate price. If you think you can do any better, you are, of course, free to haggle for yourself.”
“We don’t do haggling,” Suzie said haughtily. “We tend more to intimidation.”
“We noticed,” said Livia. “But since we really don’t want to attract attention, pay the man and let’s get going.”
Reluctantly, I handed over more coins from Old Father Time’s seemingly bottomless purse. The trader retired, bowing and grinning and scraping all the way, and I knew I’d paid tourist prices. The four of us approached our new mounts. I’d never ridden a horse in my life. It was a big beast, and a lot taller at the shoulder than I’d expected. Suzie glared right into her horse’s face, and it actually looked away bashfully. Mine showed me its huge blocky teeth and rolled its eyes meaningfully. Matters became even more complicated when I discovered that in Roman times, horse-riding didn’t involve saddles, stirrups, or even bridles. Just a blanket over the horse’s back and some very flimsy-looking reins.
“I can ride a motor-bike,” said Suzie. “How much harder can this be?”
“I have a horrible suspicion we’re about to find out,” I said.
Marcellus boosted Livia onto her mount, and then vaulted onto his horse’s back like he’d been doing it all his life. Suzie and I looked at each other. Several false starts and one really embarrassing tumble later, the horse-trader provided us with special mounting ladders (for an extra payment), and Suzie and I were up and onto our horses, trying to hold our reins like we looked like we knew what to do with them. It seemed a very long way off the ground. And then suddenly Old Father Time’s protective magic kicked in again, and immediately I knew all there was to know about how to ride a horse. I sat up straighter and took up the slack in the reins. The horse settled down, as it realised I wasn’t a complete idiot after all, and a quick glance at Suzie showed she was in control, too. I nodded curtly to Marcellus and Livia, and we set off.
It took quite a while to get to the boundary of the city. The Nightside was a big place, even in its early days, and just as before we had to go the long way round, to avoid Timeslips and places where directions were often a matter of opinion. But finally we rounded a corner, and all the buildings stopped abruptly. Ahead of us there were only vast rolling grassy flatlands, stretching away like a great green ocean, with the dark mass of the forest standing out in spiky silhouette on the far horizon, standing proudly against the night sky. Occasional strange lights would move within that dark mass, fleeting and unnatural. The air was still and cold, but pleasantly fresh after the thick smells of the city.
Suzie and I followed Marcellus and Livia as they set out across the grasslands. They set a brisk, steady pace, but though we soon left the city behind, the grassy plain seemed to stretch away forever, untouched and unspoiled in this new young land that wasn’t even called England yet. The night was strangely quiet, and there was no sign anywhere of another living thing, but still I couldn’t shake the feeling of being observed by unseen, unfriendly eyes. Now and again we’d pass a long burial cairn, standing out among the tall grasses. Piled-up stones marking the resting place of some once-important person, now long forgotten, even their names lost to history. It suddenly occurred to me to look up, and there in the night sky were only ordinary stars and a normal full moon. We had left the Nightside behind with the city.
The dark forest grew steadily larger, spreading across the horizon until it filled our whole view. The horses stirred uneasily as we drew near, and by the time we reached the edge of the forest they were snorting loudly and trying to toss their heads, and we actually had to force them across the forest boundary. They were smarter than we were. The moment we entered the wild woods, I knew we’d come to an alien place, where mortal men did not belong. The trees were bigger and taller than any I had ever seen before, huge and vast from centuries of growth. This was the old forest of old Britain, an ancient primal place, dark and threatening. Moving slowly between the towering trees was like being a small child again, lost in an adult-sized world. A single beaten path led between closely packed trees, often blocked by low-hanging branches we had to brush aside. “No swords, no cutting,” Livia whispered. “We don’t want to wake the trees.”
It was still impossibly quiet, like the bottom of the ocean. No animal sounds, no birds or even insects. The air was heavy with a sharp, musky scent, of earth and vegetation and growing things. And now and again a gusting breeze would bring us the impossibly rich scent of some night-blooming flower. Shafts of shimmering moonlight fell between the trees, or illuminated some natural clearing, somehow always supplying just enough light for us to follow the rough path.
“Do any people live here?” Suzie quietly asked.
“They wouldn’t dare,” said Livia, just as quietly. “This is a wild place. This is what we build cities against.”
“Then who’s watching us?” said Suzie.
“The woods,” said Marcellus. “And Herne’s people, of course. They’ve been aware of us ever since we crossed the boundary. The only reason they haven’t attacked is because they remember me and Livia; and they’re curious. They can tell there’s something different about you two.”
And suddenly, without any warning, there were things moving in between the trees. Moving silently and gracefully, in and out of the moonlight, at the edge of our vision. Things that moved along with us, darting ahead or dropping behind, but always keeping pace. Now and again something would pause in a pool of light, showing itself off, tantalizing us with glimpses. There were bears and giant boars, both long since vanished from the few tame woods remaining in modern England. Huge stags, with massive branching antlers, and grey wolves, long and lean and stark. Animals moved all around us, padding along in unearthly silence, slowly closing in on us, until suddenly I noticed that we’d left the beaten path and were being herded in some new direction. I looked quickly at Marcellus and Livia, but they didn’t seem at all disturbed, or even surprised. Suzie had her shotgun out. I gestured for her to remain calm, but she kept the gun balanced across her lap, glaring suspiciously about her.
Sparkling lights appeared in the darkness up ahead, bright and scintillating glows that danced in patterns too intricate for human eyes; will-o’-the-wisps, with no body or substance, only living moments of gossamer light, all mischief and malice and merry madness. They sang sweetly in no human language, beckoning us on. Birds began to sing and hoot and howl, but again it was no form of bird-song that I had ever heard before. It was a light, mocking, dangerous sound, a clear warning that we were in enemy territory. And once, in a ragged clearing lit eerily bright, I saw a group of elves dancing in silent harmony, moving elegantly through strict patterns that made no sense at all; or perhaps so much sense that mere human minds could not comprehend or contain their true significance. A procession of badgers crossed our path, then stopped to watch us pass by with wise, knowing eyes. I could feel the wild woods coming alive all around us, showing us the shapes of all the life we had passed by and through, unknowing. Life that had hidden itself from us, until then—when it was too late for us to turn back, or escape.
The great trees fell suddenly back and away to both sides, and the horses came to a sudden halt. Their hea
ds hung down listlessly, as though they’d been drugged, or ensorcelled. Ahead of us lay a huge clearing, lit bright as day. Will-o’-the-wisps spun in mad circles, and there were other, stranger shapes also made of nothing but light. They drifted back and forth overhead, huge and graceful, flowing like fluorescent manta rays. And straight ahead of us, on the far side of the clearing, sat the old god Herne the Hunter, and all the monstrous creatures of his wild Court.
Marcellus and Livia swung down from their horses and looked at me expectantly. I looked at Suzie, and we both dismounted. Suzie carried her shotgun casually, but somehow it was always aimed right at Herne. The four of us slowly walked forward across that great open space, Marcellus and Livia leading the way as easily and calmly as though they were going to church. And perhaps they were. With every step I took, I could feel the pressure of watching eyes. We were surrounded. I could feel it. And more than that, I knew that none of us were welcome here, in this ancient, primordial place.
We finally stood before Herne the Hunter, and he looked nothing like the small, diminished thing I’d known in Rats’ Alley. That Herne had been many centuries older, shrunken in upon himself, his power lost to the relentless encroachment of man and his civilisation, sweeping across the great green lands of England. This Herne was a Being and a Power, a nature god in his prime and in his element, and his wide, wolfish grin made it clear that we had only been allowed before him by his permission. We were at his mercy. He was still a squat and ugly figure, heavy-boned with an animal’s graceful musculature, but his compact body burned with rude good health and godly power. Huge goat’s horns curled up from his lowering brow, on his great leonine head, and his eyes held the hot, gleeful malice of every predator that ever was.
There was a force and a vitality in him that burned like a furnace, and simply looking at him you knew he could run all day and all night and never tire, and still tear his prey limb from limb with his bare hands at the end of the hunt. His dark copper skin was covered with hair so thick it was almost fur, and he had hooves instead of feet. He was Herne and Pan and the laughter in the woods. The piper at the gates of dawn, and the bloody-mouthed thing that squatted over endless kills. His unwavering smile showed sharp, heavy teeth, made for rending and tearing. He smelled of sweat and shit and animal musk, and even as we watched he pissed carelessly on the ground between his feet, the sharp acidic smell disturbing the animals around him. They stirred and stamped their feet uneasily. Their god was marking his territory.
This was not the Herne I had known, or expected, and I was afraid of him. His thick scent stirred old atavistic instincts in me. I wanted to fight him, or run from him, or bow down and worship him. I was far from home, in an alien place, and I knew in my blood and my bone and my water that I should never have come here. This was Herne, the spirit of the hunt and the thrill of the chase, the brute animal force that drives the raw red passion of savagery in nature, dripping red in tooth and claw. He was the wildness of the woods and the triumph of the strong over the weak. He was everything we left behind, when we went out of the woods to become civilised.
And I had thought to come here, to trick or intimidate him into granting me a favour? I must have been mad.
Herne the Hunter sat in mocking majesty on a great scalloped Throne fashioned from old, discoloured bones. Furs and scalps hung from the arms of the Throne, some of them still dripping fresh blood. There were arrangements of teeth and claws, too, souvenirs and trophies of past hunts, too many to count. Suzie leaned suddenly in close to whisper in my ear, and I almost jumped out of .my skin. Her expression was as cold and controlled as always, and her voice was reassuringly steady.
“Marcellus and Livia seemed to find their way here surprisingly easily,” she murmured. “And none of this seems to come as any surprise or shock to them. A suspicious person might almost think they’d been here before. You know; it’s still not too late for me to shoot and blow up anything that moves, while we beat a dignified but hasty retreat.”
“I think we passed ‘too late’ when we entered the wood,” I said, quietly. “So let’s keep the murder and mayhem as a last resort. Besides, we’re not going to win Herne’s help by shooting up his Court.”
“I’m not deaf, you know,” snapped Livia. “As it happens, my husband and I have been here before, many times.”
“Oh yes,” said Marcellus. “Many times. We know the god Herne of old, and he knows us.”
“You see, we weren’t sold into slavery over business debts,” said Livia, smiling a really unpleasant smile. “It was more to do with the nature of our business.”
“We sold slaves to Herne,” Marcellus said briskly. “Bought them quite legally, at market, then brought them here, into the wild wood, to be prey for the god’s Wild Hunt. They do so love to chase human victims, you see. Partly for revenge, for cutting down the forests to build their towns and farms and cities, but mainly because nothing runs better or more desperately than a hunted human. And for a while, all was well. We supplied a demand, for a suitable price, the Court enjoyed their Hunts, and everyone was happy. Well, apart from the slaves, of course, but no-one cares about slaves. That’s the point. But one cold winter there was a desperate shortage of slaves, and prices went through the roof. So Livia and I took to abducting people off the streets. No-one who would be noticed or missed—only the weak and the stupid and the poor.”
“Only they were missed,” said Livia. “And someone made a fuss, there’s always some busybody sticking their nose in where it isn’t wanted, and the Legions got involved. And they caught us in the act.”
“We’d made an awful lot of money,” said Marcellus. “And we spent most of it on lawyers, but it didn’t do any good. I gave what I considered a very spirited defence before the magistrates, but they wouldn’t listen. I mean, it’s not as if we ever abducted a Citizen…”
“It was an election year,” Livia said bitterly. “And so they took everything from us and sold us into slavery. But thanks to you, we now have a chance for freedom, and revenge.”
“Revenge,” said Marcellus. “On all our many enemies.” And they both laughed.
They turned abruptly away from us and bowed low to the god Herne. I thought it diplomatic to bow, too, and even Suzie had the sense to incline her head briefly. The monstrous creatures of Herne’s Court were watching us avidly, and I really didn’t like the way they looked at us. Livia noticed my interest, and took it upon herself to introduce various members of the Court. Her voice was openly mocking.
Hob In Chains was a huge and blocky humanish figure, a good ten feet tall with huge slabs of muscle and a boar’s head. Great curling tusks protruded from his mouth, and his deep-set eyes were fierce and red and mad. Long iron chains fell about his naked malformed body from an iron collar round his thick neck. Man had tried to chain him up long ago, but it hadn’t taken. His hands and forearms looked as though they’d been dipped in blood, so fresh it still dripped and steamed on the air. Half a dozen little men with pig’s heads squatted on their haunches about his cloven feet, grunting and squealing as they vied for position. They looked at Suzie and me with hungry, impatient eyes, and thick strings of slaver fell from their mouths. Some of them still wore rags and tatters, from the time when they used to be human, before Hob In Chains bent them to his will.
Tomias Squarefoot was quite clearly a Neanderthal. Barely five feet tall, he was nearly as wide, with a squat, hulking body and a face that was neither human nor ape. He had no chin, and his mouth was a wide, lipless gash, but his eyes were strangely kind. He studied Suzie and me thoughtfully, scratching unselfconsciously at his hairy, naked body.
A dozen oversized wolves were pointed out to me as werewolves, and I saw no reason to doubt Livia. Their eyes held a human intelligence, alongside an inhuman appetite. There were liches, so recently risen from their graves that dark earth still clung to their filthy vestments. They had dead white flesh and burning eyes, and hands like claws.
There were ogres and bogles and goblins
, and other worse creatures whose very names and natures had been lost to human history. Herne’s Court—wild and fierce and deadly. And backing them up, pressing in close from every side, all the wild animals of the forest, gathered together in the only place where they could know a kind of truce. They glared at Suzie and me like a jury, with Herne the hanging judge. The god leaned suddenly forward on his bone Throne, and will-o’-the-wisps circled madly above his horned head like a living halo.
“Marcellus and Livia,” said Herne, in a voice warm as summer sun, rough as a goat’s bray. “It has been some time since you graced our Court with your mercenary presence. We had heard that you had fallen from grace, in that damned city.”
“So we had, wild lord,” Marcellus said smoothly. “But we have escaped those who would hold us slaves, and we come to you to restore our fortunes again. My wife and I bring you a gift—two travellers called John Taylor and Suzie Shooter. They think they are here to beg a boon from you.”
“They’re really not very bright,” said Livia.
“Told you so,” murmured Suzie. “Who do you want me to shoot first?”
“Hold off a while,” I murmured back. “There’s still a chance I can talk our way out of this.”
“I can always use two more victims for my Hunt,” Herne said lazily. “But it will take more than this to restore you to my goodwill.”
“But the man is special,” said Livia. “He is the son of that old witch Lilith.”
And at that the whole monstrous Court rose up as one. Herne surged up out of his Throne, roaring like a great bear, but the savage sound was all but drowned out in the massed braying and howling of his Court. They swept forward, from all sides at once, with reaching hands and claws and fanged mouths, and the hatred in their raised voices beat on the air like a living thing. Suzie didn’t even have time to bring her shotgun to bear on a single target before the creatures of the wild were all over her. They tore the shotgun out of her grasp and bore her to the ground, fighting and kicking all the way.