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The Black Beast picked his way through the passage ahead of us, never looking back. I reached out, searching for the Moon Mother to reassure me that she was still with me in this serpentine maze, and after a moment, I felt the gentle touch of her presence, softly reassuring me.
How long we were in the tunnel was hard to tell. I focused on my breathing, trying to keep from freaking out. Even staying at Smoky’s barrow was problematic at times. I’d rather be out under the sky, especially on the night of the Hunt. My shoulders began to ache and I realized how tense I was. I tried to relax, but the tension just crept into my neck and scalp. As a headache threatened to explode, the Black Unicorn stopped. We were near another dark, inky patch.
“What you are about to see,” he said without turning around, “is something few humans, Fae, or elves have ever laid sight on. Never forget, you are being accorded an honor. Privilege can easily turn into punishment if your actions fail to warrant the gift.”
Punishment? What punishment? Where were we going?
My question was answered as we stepped through the darkness and entered another small grove. But this one was no mere meadow, nor faerie ring. No, this was a sacred place. The energy sang loud and clear, a somber melody that echoed in the evening air.
A ring of baiyn cypress stood in the center of the field, an Otherworld hybrid of the Mediterranean cypress, bred for their magical nature. The ring of trees stood two hundred feet tall and had been pruned so the trunks were bare for twenty feet upward. With gnarled bark that had split in places, and faces that formed when you looked too closely at the knots and burls, eight of the trees held dark niches near the ground. Whether they had been carved, or formed naturally, was hard to tell.
Morio touched me lightly on the arm and pointed. It was then that I caught a glimpse of ivory within the hollows of the trees. We were in a cemetery. I slowly crossed over to the trees, the Black Beast saying nothing, but standing to the side, watching me closely.
I made my way through the waist-high saw grass, brushing aside the sharp blades that left little cuts along my bare skin. The Moon Mother was rising and the Hunt was near. I could feel the trail of predators preparing for the chase.
As I knelt by the first baiyn cypress and peered into the hollow, the gleaming bones of a horse sparkled in the moonlight. And yet, it was no horse. It was obvious that the horn once affixed to its head had been severed. This was no ordinary cemetery, but the resting place of all the incarnations of the Black Beast. Eight trees with hollows—eight bodies from over the eons. Eight horns, all but three now lost in the mists of time.
My cloak echoed the vibration of the trees and a faint keening rose through the glade. The horn, one moment in my pocket but now in my hand, began to vibrate and I could feel the power building as the urge to Hunt, to seek, to chase, to strike, flooded through my heart.
I slowly stood and turned, feeling poised on the edge of a chasm. The father of the Dahns Unicorns watched me closely. Morio silently glided to my side. We stood, silent, caught in a tableau of anticipation.
A flurry of images began to race through my mind and, horrified, I tried to push them away.
Blood and pain and loss, hunger and passion and a silver fire overriding everything. The lust of the Hunt, the drive to destroy and renew . . .
The cycle of the Moon Mother. She rose from the ashes, growing brilliant into ripeness, then the darkness ate away at her, destroying her, and she shriveled into the Crone, leading the pack into the depths to rest and be reborn again . . .
Maiden, Mother, Crone, the ever-turning cycle, and her cycle was my cycle, and it was also the cycle of the Black Unicorn . . .
As I stood there, terrified by what I now knew destiny had planned for me, the Black Beast nuzzled me gently. I looked up into the fiery eyes and shuddered.
“I can’t . . . do . . . this,” I whispered, rubbing his muzzle.
He let out a soft nicker. “You must do this. The Hags of Fate have decreed it. This cycle is near its end. You must accept your destiny and I must accept mine.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.” Tears slowly ran down my cheeks, trailing rivulets through my makeup and the dust from the journey. Heartsick, I wanted to run out of the glen, back Earthside.
“The pain that comes with my sacrifice allows the cycle to continue. If you do not help me, then you will never understand the full power of the horn, and you will also put an end to my reign. You have a journey to make as well—this will lead you into a new realm. Can you deny us both our futures?”
Morio let out a gasp and understanding filled his eyes. “But why am I here?”
The Black Beast gazed at him. “The priestess must have a consort. A priest must attend her during the ritual. You understand the nature of death magic, youkai. For you are more than you seem, more than you’ve let on to even your wife. Tonight, you wear the cloak of priest. And tonight, the cloak Camille wears will change. You must be part of that transformation. You are souls bound together, and after tonight, you will be bound intrinsically by your magic.”
Still crying, I allowed the Black Beast to nudge me into the center of the glen. “But why me? Why not Raven Mother? She’s your consort.”
“And she will continue to be. But she cannot do the deed. She is not mortal, and by mortal—albeit long-lived—hand, my rebirth must take place.”
He stood before me, towering and dark, steam rising from his nostrils, his sleek black coat as brilliant and shining as obsidian. I wanted to run screaming, but then I looked into his eyes. There, amidst the fire and shadows I found compassion, and mercy, and understanding. Our gazes locked for what seemed like forever, and I willed the moment never to end. I wanted to lose myself in the depths of the eons this creature had seen.
But then he shuffled, and nosed me out of my reverie. “It’s time, Daughter of the Moon. You know what to do.” He glanced over at Morio. “Be ready for when she sweeps you up. You will run with her, and you will offer her the strength she needs when the time has come. You will hand her the power of death that she cannot yet fully wield.”>Her breasts crested in a full curve above the neckline of her sheer black dress. Her lips, stained ebony, glistened when she spoke, and her eyes were masked with black like a raccoon. When she smiled, her teeth gleamed, not fangs but more like jutting arrowheads of bone, serrated and sharp.
“And who are these lovelies? Yes, who are they?” she asked, circling around the Black Beast, laying a lazy hand on his side. He let out a soft nicker and for some reason, it scared me so bad I thought I was going to wet my pants. Well, skirt.
Raven Mother and the Black Unicorn were paired, two of a kind, both as primal and feral as the wild wood in which they lived.
The Lord of the Dahns let out a sharp cough, and once again, his voice filled my head. “They are here for the Hunt. At least the girl is, and her fox demon. She possesses one of my horns, and so she must experience its most powerful use before she can trust herself to use it fully.”
“And her lover?” Raven Mother whispered, but her words echoed through the glen, almost like the shrill cawing of her namesake.
