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“It’s the Wild Hunt!” someone shouted.
I whipped my head around, searching the darkness.
On the horizon, illuminated by the gray line of the sea, rode a pair of figures. Distant as they were, their mounts had to be enormous. And they weren’t horses. Their long, loping strides suggested something canine, but my hasty glance didn’t give me enough time to decipher what they were. A strangling fear gripped my throat as I clicked my tongue at Corona and eased him out to the side of the road.
Zara was back there.
I was caught in a slow, frenzied tangle of pedestrians, wagons, and riders. The Wild Hunt was a myth they told children to keep us from wandering too far from home…or so I had thought. But the two massive creatures barreling toward the road were most certainly real and entirely too large and too fast to be natural.
“Zara!”
I couldn’t hear if she called back. My heart thundered so loud I barely heard the hoofbeats. My gaze snapped back from the city gate to my friend. With a shrill yell, I slowed Corona, whirled him around, and charged back toward Zara.
Her horse was lagging, but when Corona drew up next to him, he snorted and leaned into the race like he’d been trained to do. Good boy.
Corona reacted and put on more speed. All the animals on the road had lunged into a flat-out run, leaving everyone on foot in a cloud of dust.
It was a race in every sense of the word now.
The Wild Hunt never entered cities. At least, that’s how the stories went. The gate of Puerta quickly reversed from a symbol of certain ruin to a haven of salvation.
Sweat poured down my chest and back as fear cut through my thoughts.
The beasts were close enough now that I could see pointed ears on one and spots on the other. A wolf and a great cat.
I was lucky that I rode a fast horse. And Zara was keeping pace. Those on foot…I hated to think of their fate.
The wide gate was already bottlenecked with panicked pedestrians. I yanked on the reins to keep from crashing into a small buggy. Zara pulled up beside me, her curls like a windmill around her face. Dust whirled everywhere, obscuring my view of the Hunters. “Move!” I shouted. Other than a nasty look from a man beside me, nothing happened.
I glanced over my shoulder. A wind gusted through, clearing some of the dust. The Hunters were closing in. According to the stories, they stole young virgins from the land of mortals—but I’d always thought this was merely a scare tactic.
Zara cursed and shouted in a manner that would have shocked her earlier suitors, but the crowd’s movements were too slow, oozing through the gate like molasses.
A scream drew my gaze backward in time to see a Hunter snatching a woman from the road. Just then, the crowd surged forward, and I finally passed under the city gate. The woman’s screams disappeared as we spilled through the city’s thick walls.
Zara pulled her shawl over her head, and I followed suit, aware that a pair of respectable women coming to Puerta would cause a stir. My heart raced, and the fear in the crowd was still palpable.
That woman had been taken by those awful creatures.
I met Zara’s gaze. Unspoken gratitude flowed between us.
Hoping to catch a glimpse of Sol, I scanned the roadside, crammed with makeshift structures composed of boards and canvas—but no golden horse. Ignoring the feeling of hopelessness that threatened to choke me, I peered at the branching roads ahead. He was here somewhere, and I would find him.
A few men openly stared at us.
“Tal,” Zara whispered, “I sincerely apologize for deciding we’d both wear red tonight.”
A nervous laugh burst from my lips. I rested my free hand on the blade at my calf, grateful for its presence.
“Let’s find Sol,” I said.
3
Talia
We stopped briefly, allowing our horses to drink heartily from a trough, then walked them down the narrow, twisting roads of the market. Vendors shouted at us as we passed, and the milling pedestrians barely stepped aside for our horses. The stalls and kiosks were alive—as if it were peak time for business—and no one inside these walls seemed the least bit concerned that a pair of mythological creatures had just swiped a young woman from the road.
Tents stretched out in a sea of brown points and sagging lines that faded into the night. Corona weaved around a pair of arguing men standing in the road and dodged a wagonload of flour sacks. I ignored every whistle that came my way. Sol was here. Somewhere. Faces turned from steaming pots and smoking pipes, suspicious of hurried newcomers. People here did not rush. They languished. A pair of young boys sauntered up, hands begging before their mouths could.
