Paths Not Taken

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."