I am sooo stoked! This piece won a writer's competition it was submitted to. Will be featured in the May issue of the online magazine Echoed Voices!



Hunter's Ride
--------------------------
The Call... The Pull... We are to ride again. May the
Gods have pity on those whom we hunt.

Who am I? Once, I was Human. I think. But time among
the Fae have twisted everything I can remember of that time.

Call me Hunter.

For that is what we are. No longer can I walk the fields
of my childhood. Those open lands are long gone.
Now when we Hunt, we ride the modern world of Mankind.
I miss the old days. The Rides for the pure joy of the Ele-
ments. Yes, we do still Ride that way. But there are less
and less Old Lands to roam. I miss taking a Mortal behind
me. Riding with the Winds of the World. Giving them a thrill
in the feel of our Immortal Otherness. It used to renew their
faith in the Gods. Now, who knows. The Hunt is called so much
more. We seperate the ones who cross the Veil and try to stay.
Fae are not meant to stay in your world. We hunt those who
would terrorize your world. Rogues must be returned. Nightmares
must be destroyed, or you would think us all like that.
We are the police of the Fae, but that is not right either.
We are the Keepers of the Souls,
The Wild Ride,
Herne's Hunters.
We are Death to the Hunted Soul.

I tire of this. There is no other existance for me. But I
am cursed to ride under Herne's call. We betrayed him. We
thought to enchant him. As we learned to our regret, it was a
threefold curse.
We, all of the men who ride, can have no loves, no hopes
of recovering our humanity. Are we bitter? I cannot say that
is so. I feel no bitterness. Not in these last centuries. What
I do feel is loneliness. I am not Fae. I am not welcomed into
the hearts of The Sidhe. I am something to create nightmares
for their young. As I am for the children of my lost race.

"Behave Wee Ones, Listen... Do you not hear the belling
hounds, the drum of hooves? The Wild Hunt is about tonight.
Listen to that wind howl. Let them pass, look not out the
windows. Stay within, do not venture outside. I don't want
to lose you to them. Mommy loves you..."

Do you not know we hear you? I long to hold a lost child
safe in my arms, to return them to their parents... I want
to be more than something to be called for a scare. Something
more than a horror in the night. I am not a Dark Stain. I am a
Lost Soul. I feel the curse. It weighs heavy, only to feel
lighter as we ride...
I go. I am Called.



We assemble, as ever. The Horses are ready. Red eyed,
firey breath, blacker than the midnight of new moon. We don
the hooded capes after checking our leathers. Black on black,
to blend with the shadows. Herne motions to mount, his antlers
already sweeping among the leaves. Much jangling of harness
as we maneuver for position. There are no favorites. It is only
there are some more interested in Hunting. I just want to Ride.
The hounds are given the scent. Herne gives us the image of
our... prey, for want of a better word. I already pity the soul.
Human born. Evil as the most twisted Unseelie. Atleast it isn't
an innocent soul this time. I hate those Hunts.
We pace the Veil. There are cities on the other side. Trees
on ours. Yes. The worlds do overlap. But Your World is becoming
so much more technologically developed. Here we exist on the
World's magic. It is becoming more difficult to find crossing
spots. We ride through shared parks. The hounds are seeking the
psychic emanations of our prey. Or,do they feel the Call also?
I refuse to think of why we are going. I can't. Guilt? Maybe.
Perhaps I just tire of this endless job.

We cross. Unfortunately, there is a Circle of Pagans. An
Initiate stands center circle. Herne, ordered to take her for a ride? They would order him? Do they not know what can happen to her?
It would serve them right if we took her back with us. Herne smiles.
I sigh. I do not like this. I hang my head, for Herne has noticed
my reluctance.
Oh, of course. I am motioned forward to accept the passenger.
Herne knows, I will remember to drop her somewhere from which her
soul can return. There are others who would keep her for the joy
of her terror.
I pull her essence behind me, anchoring her hands about my
waist. Her body crumples to the ground. Let them deal with it.
I can feel her thrill, her terror. I feel nothing. Herne rears
his mount, and we are gone. Our mounts eat up the miles. We
were called far from the traces of our prey.

The sudden belling heralds the caught scent. Our mounts
stream through shadows. Dread runs before us. The eyes of
our Soul-Hunting Hounds gleam with blood lust. There are those
that feel us coming. The taste of their fear is oh, so sweet.
Some will dream of us afterward. For years they will wake to the
thundering of hooves, slick with the cold sweat of terror.
Some of the Hunt can send images to the minds of Men. Small
snippets of past Hunts, nightmares, to wake screaming from.
Things like the nightime terror of running from Hellhounds, the
vision of a black robed Rider towering over them, of the
sulpherous stench of an UnSeelie Equine breathing hotly down
their neck.
If it keeps them from becoming our prey, our victim, so be
it. I can live a few centuries with that. My reason? Because
what we do to those we Hunt, is enough to destroy your mortal
mind.

I can feel the Initiate shaking. Poor Girl! She is caught
up in the tumultous emotions of thousands. They stream through
her as easily as the wind through her unbound hair. I pity
those we pass. I pity the young woman behind me. There is a
relief at not being our chosen that echoes in our wake. I pull
that around her to cushion her from this bloody night's work.
Did she really think she was just going for a Ride? Mortals are
such fools. Look at my fellow Riders and myself. Becareful,
things come back threefold. And, my Human Friends, not always
are they what you expect.

Herne feels my concern. It is unlike a Rider to have pity.
We have been heedless to Man's pleas for centuries.
Our Horned Lord slows the tide of Riders, allowing the
dogs to range ahead. I feel his touch slide over our guest.
She shivers as his powerful aura enwraps her. He nods to me.
He agrees. She does not need to have nightmares for the
remainder of her days.
I drift away from the race. Others surge forward to take
my place. They are gone in a moment. The sound of rolling
thunder heralds their passing. I wish them well on the Hunt.
Not that I am sorry I won't be going with them. I seem to
be less heartless. Maybe I am just tired of being the
Boogie Man.

We slow to a steady canter, listening to the distant
cries of the pack. A howl rings through the night. They are
closing with their quarry. We have left just in time.

The soul is still quaking behind me. She needs a bit of
reassurance. I can do nothing, but Ride. I cannot remember
how to comfort. Something tugs at my attention. Again, I
feel an urgency. I turn my mount and follow the pull.

The Initiate can now hear the piteous sobbing. Human.
Child. What is it doing out at this time of night? Only
the empowered or those hunting the nights should be, and
those can protect themselves.
I follow the sounds, stopping my mount at the edge of
a clearing. I pull on the reigns to turn away. The soul leans
around me and I turn my head to look down into her shining face.
She places a staying hand on my arm. Brave creature, this one,
or maybe foolish. She slips to the ground, still touching me.
Her eyes search the dark depths of my hood. I could leave her
here. She would eventually find her way back. I should leave
her here... but...

Why do I feel obligated to watch over her? Herne entrusted
her to me. But that isn't it. I glance at the crying child.
Why do its tears move me? I am a Hunter. I ride the Wild Ride.
I am beyond human compassion. And yet... I sigh. It is like
the cold winds that rattle the dead bracken on Eire's winter
shores. This foolish Mortal Soul stands there and looks at me.
My voice is long unused, so it is harsh when I speak. I see
her flinch. Whether it is from my raspy voice or the things
I say, I do not know. I could leave you here, I tell her. It
will be a long time until you find your way home. She
understands. She begs me with her bright eyes. I nod and watch
her drift away, a glittering sight in the darkness.

Most cannot see souls. When they do, they are usually so
frightened they lock the image away, fit only for the most
subconcious of dreams. But children... Children have this
wonderful magic that resides in them. It enables them to see
things from the otherworlds. Angels, Faeries, Unicorns,
Mermaids... these things are real to the child. The adult
loses this ability, unless they learn to see with a child's
eye. What this child will make of us? I can not guess.

This soul, this brave, foolish creature. I care not what
her name is, I really do not. Don't get involved. Give them
the Ride of their life, then forget them. She intriques me.
We are fearsome men, the Horror of the Fae, and yet,she
appeals to me. She appeals to the Mortal deep within this
cursed existence. I find I cannot abandon her here.

She kneels next to the wee one. I can hear her murrmurring
to the child. Things of comfort, promises to stay the dark
fear. The sobbing lessens. Stifled sniffles. I watch from
the shadows, unwilling to make my presence known. Enfolded
in the bright essence of the Soul, the little dark tressed
head shakes. There are questions. Soft suggestions of help.
What is your name, what are you doing out here all alone,
where are your parents, how old are you, where do you live?
Over and over again, until the child focuses on the words.
I stay in the stillness of the night watching the wonderfully
loving side of Humanity at work.

Her name is Amy. She is six years old. Mommy and Daddy were
sleeping in the tent. She only wanted to see the fireflies.
Then there were the baby foxes. She only followed them a
little, but when she tried to go back, she was lost. How
long? She didn't know. Can you help me find my Mommy? I
want my mommy. Tears stream down dirt-streaked cheeks.
There were wolves she says. Great big ones with red eyes.
One of them almost found her when she hid in the bushes. It
got real close. Then the men on the big scary horses came.
She held her breath, kept saying don't find me, don't find me
over and over in her mind. Terror fills her little frame. The
man with deer horns on his head whistled and the wolves ran
away with the men chasing them. Poor bairn met up with The
Hell Hounds and my brother Riders. I caught the image of the
Hunt in her mind. Red eyes of a Hound staring into hers,
its putrid breath clogging small sinuses. Petrified with fear,
she had cowered in the bushes until long after they were gone.

The Soul pulled Amy into her lap and rocked her. My mount
snorted. Amy jerked around, staring as I stepped my mount
into the clearing. She screamed and I heard the soul telling
her I was there to help. I stayed at the edge of the moonlight.
Think child, I said. What do your parents look like? What do
they feel like? Think of them. They will find you. I will see
to that. Yes, I know I terrified her. I looked just like any
other Rider. She thought of her parents, screaming for them
in her mind. I pulled their images to me as she buried her face
in the Initiate's shoulder. Was that necessary, I was asked.
Yes, I tell her. She will never wander away again. I turn into
the woods and disappear into the night.

I can feel the Soul calming the child. Was she an Angel?
Well, that was something she didn't quite answer. What was I?
I waited to hear her explain me. I was a cursed man. Destined to
Ride the night. True enough and Amy accepted that. An enchanted
prince? I had to laugh. It has been so long since I have done
that. It felt good. Such as I, a prince? A Dark Knight, she
tells the child.
Ah, to be young and believe in Faery Tales.

I turn my mind to the night and her parents. Ah, yes.
There they are. Frantically searching close to camp. Amy is
not really that far away. But her own sobs drown out the sound
of her parents calling her name. I send them an image of red
eyes watching their daughter in the night. Her father catches
it immediately. I gently push him in Amy's direction. There,
a scrap of cloth from her night clothes. I usher them onward.
They stumble into the clearing.
Amy has cried herself to sleep. The Initiate sits beside her.
Of course, they can see her less than they can feel me and the worry which I send into their hearts, not that there isn't
an abundance there already. I motion to the Soul. She comes
and mounts behind me. As we drift along the woods dark trails,
I can hear the wee one asking for the Dark Knight and the Angel
Lady. Didn't Mommy and Daddy see them? They promised to help
find them. They really did. And you did find me...

The sounds of their voices blend with others in the world.
I notice the lightening of the sky. It is time to return
this one to her own Coven. We canter with the wind, picking
up speed until we are racing the Moon, Herself.
I can hear the sounds of the Hunt. The celebration of the
capture. The screams of torment from the captured prey. The
Hounds are clamoring for attention. It dims suddenly.
They have crossed the Veil without me. I must hurry.

I return to the Coven which called us so far from
our Quarry. Her body, her Mortal Shell is laid comfortably
on the grass. Two sit beside her. Others keep vigil outside
the circle. They do not see us as we ride forth. The Initiate
slides down, anxious to return to her form. I touch her hand,
staying her.
For centuries, I have not spoken to another Mortal Soul.
Tonight I have done so. I do so again. My Lady, I whisper.
She stands silent, watching me, listening. I push back my
hood. Dark brown eyes stare into her bright face. I must
thank you. You have shown me hope. I now know, I am not
destined to be cursed for all eternity. I kiss her hand, as
a Knight in a Faery Tale would, and ride away.

I watch the Moon sink unto the horizon. I have stayed too
long. I must hurry before the Veil no longer parts. We race
for the nearest thinning. I can feel it closing! Hurry! I urge
my Faeborn steed to his utmost. Only to have the Veil shut in
our faces.
I scream in frustration.

I am Hunter. I am a Rider of the Wild Ride. I am one of
Herne's Hunters. I am not to be left behind!

I am Hunter. Herne gave me leave to protect a Human Soul!


But when the Veil is thin again, will that be enough.
Until then I am stranded in the Mortal Realm. I will search
out those that need protection. Those that need punishment
will be so punished. I will Ride each night as if Called,
and when the Veil lifts again, I will return to the Hunt.


But will I be the Hunter or the Hunted?




9/4/02 DMA/Snapper


alright Cowboy! Satisfied?