Cursed, p.12
Cursed, page 12
“What if they can’t capture it again?” whispered Gerdrut.
“Then we’ll have a ferocious half-dead bear wandering around the gardens,” said Fricz.
“Maybe it will eat the Erlking,” said Nickel, “and solve at least one of our problems.”
Anna twisted her lips to consider this, but ultimately shook her head. “Not much of a solution if it just makes a bigger problem to deal with.”
“I’ll take my chances with the bear,” muttered Nickel.
Down below, the bear was crawling on all fours out of the cage. The hunters gave it a wide berth, those on foot hiding in the trees and brush, while those on horseback lingered closer to the edges of the arena. The bear walked with slow, stocky movements, sniffing the air, its patchy fur bristled with distrust.
Until, without warning, the bear stood on its back legs and roared. Its yellowed fangs flashed in the sunlight. When it landed back on its forepaws, the ground trembled, the vibrations even felt through the floorboards of the stands.
Then the bear was charging through the false forest, searching for an escape.
“Hold!” shouted the Erlking.
No one tried to stop the bear as it sped around trees and trampled vegetation, knocking over saplings and crushing ferns and ignoring the brambles and twigs that caught in its fur.
It reached an outer wall.
The bear came to an abrupt stop, staring at the impenetrable stone before it. Then it roared again—the sound shaking Serilda’s bones.
The bear spent a moment sniffing around the wall, even attempting to climb it.
With a frustrated snort, the bear charged back into the forest. This time, heading toward the castle.
Still, the hunters did not move. How far would they let it go?
She wondered if there was any chance the bear might actually escape. If it found the southern gate, the bear might be able to climb over it. Could it get to the courtyard and across the drawbridge into Adalheid? Or could it leap into the lake and swim for a distant shore? What if the bear made it out into the mortal realm?
She felt bad for the bear—but not so bad that she wanted it loosed upon the people she cared for.
“Why aren’t they doing anything?” asked Anna, who had stood now and was leaning both hands against the rail to see better.
“They are biding their time, waiting for the creature to exhaust itself. It will be easier to capture once it has relinquished hope.”
Serilda and the children turned toward the raspy voice. A woman was sitting in the next row of benches. Alone.
Serilda recognized her immediately. The headless woman, as she had always thought of her. Not a dark one, but a ghost—one of the few who often joined the wild hunt, who had been down in the arena practicing swordsmanship and archery earlier that afternoon. She wore a scarf around her throat, perpetually drenched in blood, as was the front of her tunic. In the mortal realm, when Serilda had once been fleeing from the castle, she had seen this woman’s ghost. Had heard her crying, saying it was all her fault. Serilda had watched as the woman’s head was cut off by some invisible blade. Even now, Serilda shivered when she thought of it. The decapitated head, eyes staring, mouth open, whispering—Help us.
The memory accosted her every time she spotted this woman, though she didn’t think the ghosts knew what their haunting selves did on the other side of the veil.
“They’re playing with it,” said Hans, disgusted. “Making it think it has a chance.”
“Precisely,” said the woman. “It is one of the king’s favorite games.”
Serilda shivered, thinking how the wild hunt had once allowed her to believe she might escape, too. She and her father had fled to a nearby town, hoping they could hide until the full moon was over. She had thought they stood a chance—just like the bärgeist below.
“How long will it take the bear to … give up?” she asked.
The woman met her gaze. “Impossible to say. This is the first time the bear has been outside its cage in hundreds of years. How it reacts is anyone’s guess.”
“Why aren’t you down there?” asked Nickel. “You’re a hunter, too, aren’t you?”
The woman smiled at him, her expression soft. “I am a hunter,” she said. “But I am not one of them, nor will I ever be.” The contempt in her tone was obvious.
“You don’t like the wild hunt?” said Fricz, twisting so far around in his seat that he was nearly sitting backward.
“Oh, I enjoy the taste of freedom it offers, but not as much as I despise the sensation of being trapped yet again when we return.” The woman paused before adding, “We ghosts are given few choices. I suspect you know that yourself, young squire.”
Fricz’s curious expression dimmed.
“His Darkness takes me with him because I have skills he values on the hunt,” she went on. “If given a choice, I would not keep such company, even if it meant abstaining from the one thing I’ve ever been good at.”
Serilda considered this, wondering if she could ever abstain from telling stories—the one thing she had ever been good at. Probably it would benefit her greatly if she did, but she had promised herself in the past that she was done with her tales and her lies and yet, somehow, her mischievous tongue always betrayed her, and usually got her into deeper and deeper trouble.
“M’lady, I might not perch quite so precariously if I were you,” said the woman.
Serilda turned to see Anna sitting on top of the rail, her back toward the arena. Serilda gasped and reached forward, grabbing Anna’s arm and pulling her back. “You could fall!”
Anna huffed. “At least it would be something to do!” she said, facing the spectacle and leaning her elbows on the rail, refusing to sit back down on the bench.
Serilda shook her head and wished doubly hard for this day to be over. She was glad to see that the storm clouds had gotten nearer. Any minute now they would roll in front of the sun. A shadowy mist in the distance suggested a heavy rain was coming, too.
“Forgive my forwardness, Your Majesty,” said the woman. She had stood and come around the bench and now gestured at the spot Anna had deserted. “I wonder if I might join your company?”
Serilda blinked, studying the woman more closely than she had before. She was fair-skinned, with keen blue eyes and yellow hair braided into a neat crown atop her head. Her posture was stiff and regal, her build athletic and strong.
Now that she thought of it, this woman had always seemed different from the other ghosts of the castle. She was a hunter, but not fully welcomed by the dark ones. She was a ghost, but not a servant. She had earned respect for her skills, and yet—just like Serilda—her skills had also earned her the position of an outcast.
“Of course,” said Serilda, scooting closer toward Gerdrut to make room. “We would be honored by your company.”
The woman smiled, almost shyly, as she sat. “I am Lady Agathe, huntress and weapons master.”
“Weapons master?” said Serilda, her eyebrows lifting.
Agathe nodded. “I have few memories of my mortal life, but I was once tasked with training the castle guards, among other responsibilities.”
Serilda thought again of the shadowy figure weeping in the castle entrance. I taught him as well as I could, but he wasn’t ready. I failed him. I failed them all.
It was as though a piece of the castle’s tragic past fell into place. No wonder Agathe blamed herself, at least in part, for failing at her duties. She had trained the castle guards. She must have been a great warrior herself. And yet, against the dark ones, Adalheid had fallen. The very people she had meant to protect had been slaughtered, including herself, and the royal family. Surely Agathe would have known the king and queen, even Gild. Perhaps she had been the one to teach him sword fighting and archery.
“It must have been a great honor for one of your talents,” Serilda ventured, “to be given a place among the wild hunt.”
Agathe grinned sourly. “They should be honored to have me.” Then she cut a look toward Serilda, her eyes twinkling. “Rather like they should be honored to have such a queen on the alder throne.”
Serilda felt her cheeks warming. She was a miller’s daughter. She still did not see herself as much of a queen, and she wasn’t sure she ever would. “I doubt many see it that way.”
“They are fools.”
A roar from the arena drew their attention back to the bärgeist. The bear had reached the western wall and was eyeing some of the taller trees, likely contemplating whether they would hold its weight if it tried to climb them.
The hunters, too, were on the move. Creeping through the foliage. Surrounding the bear like a trap, their moves as silent as moonlight.
“I don’t understand why you aren’t down there,” said Serilda. “Surely your skills would be valuable in practice as much as in reality.”
“I am useful on the hunts,” said Agathe, “but this is for sport. A way to build skills and to practice with the golden chains. It is also entertainment for the dark ones. To show the court what their hunters can do.” She glared at a group of dark ones who had gathered close to the rails. “It would not be appreciated for a human ghost to upstage their beloved hunters before such an audience. Before the queen herself.” She chuckled under her breath. “The king would not risk that.”
Serilda could not help grinning at her. Agathe’s words were arrogant, but her tone held a quiet confidence. Could this woman, once a mortal, truly be a better hunter than the demons? It was difficult to imagine, but Serilda had seen firsthand how the Erlking gave Agathe more respect than he afforded most of the ghosts in this castle, or even some of the dark ones.
“Watch now,” said Agathe.
Down below, the king—barely visible in a patch of fig trees—gave a signal with his arm.
The hounds raced forward. Yelping. Howling. A blur of black fur in the trees.
The bear growled, putting its back to the wall. It sniffed the air, red eyes flashing.
Serilda leaned forward, hoping the bear would fight back. That it would destroy some of those awful hounds.
But the hounds did not attack. Instead, they stopped just beyond reach of the bear’s massive claws, ducking and dodging as it swiped at them. It took Serilda a moment to realize that the hounds were herding the bear. Forcing it away from the wall and back into the tree line.
The bear continued to snarl and swat, even as it lost ground. The hounds were too quick, too well-trained. Serilda wondered if they were intentionally trying to confuse the bear, the way they darted in and around it, growling and nipping at its fur, coming at it from every direction. Then a hound leaped onto the bear’s back and buried its fangs into the bear’s flesh. The bärgeist roared and flung the hound off—
And the arrows began to fly.
Chapter Fifteen
Serilda had been so focused on the hellhounds she hadn’t noticed the hunters.
Three arrows struck the bärgeist in quick succession. Two in its shoulder, one in its side. The bear roared again, the embers in its eyes kindling with rage.
But it didn’t charge at the hunters.
Instead, it turned and ran, fleeing for its life.
It had not gone far before a net woven from golden chains snapped taut in its path. The bear crashed into it, its limbs quickly entangled.
Agathe rose to her feet, and Serilda was quick to join her. She and the children gathered close to the rail, watching in horrified awe as the bärgeist struggled to claw its way free. The hunters strained to pull the chains taut, securing the net around its massive body.
“It isn’t enough,” murmured Agathe.
Serilda didn’t respond. She was trying to see what Agathe saw. Trying to discern what was happening in that mass of black fur and howling dogs and glittering chains.
It surely seemed like enough to her.
Around them, the stands erupted in applause. Serilda did not cheer, nor did the children. Nor did any of the servants, who had stopped distributing food and drink to watch the hunt.
Nor, she noticed, did Agathe.
It had not really been a fair battle. The bear hadn’t stood a chance. It had been a beast in a maze, with no hope for freedom.
What was the purpose? To taunt this poor creature, who had already spent an eternity in confinement? The violence was grotesque, and Serilda couldn’t fathom why anyone would wish to see it. There wasn’t any glory here.
A small hand slipped into hers. She looked down to see Gerdrut watching the hunt with tears on her face. “Are they going to kill it?”
Serilda frowned. “I don’t know.”
“No, child,” said Agathe. “They intend to put it back in the cage. So that, once it is healed, they may hunt it again and again.”
Gerdrut shivered.
A sudden shadow eclipsed the sunlight. The clouds were gathering over the castle.
Serilda searched out the Erlking. He was still astride his horse, but his expression was not celebratory. He was watching the sky, as if the storm were a personal slight.
Then his attention dropped back down to the bärgeist and his scowl deepened.
“I don’t understand,” said Serilda. “Why is His Grim not pleased?”
“Those chains were enough to capture the tatzelwurm,” said Agathe. “But they cannot hold the bärgeist. Which means they will not hold a gryphon.”
“A gryphon?”
Agathe nodded. “It is the next creature that His Grim has set his sights on capturing.”
Serilda tried to picture such a regal beast in the flesh—eagle wings and lion claws—the vision straight from one of the books she had borrowed from the schoolhouse in Märchenfeld.
Below, the bärgeist had stopped struggling against the bindings.
“It looks like they are holding to me,” murmured Serilda.
“Wait,” said Agathe.
But though the crowd held their breath, and the hunters held the chains and dug their heels into the soft dirt, the bärgeist did not move. Too afraid, or too discouraged, to fight back.
“But how did they capture it before?” asked Serilda. “The king hunted the bärgeist without golden chains. And so many others. The rubinrot wyvern, the…” She stopped herself before she could mention the creature she and Gild had seen, not sure if that was meant to be a secret. “So many others.”
“My understanding,” Agathe said slowly, “is that the bärgeist was captured by Perchta, the great huntress.”
Serilda’s head whipped around. “What?”
A shadow fell over Agathe’s face. “I mentioned how I have few memories of my mortal life, but there is one clearer than the others. The night the dark ones came. They stormed the castle with weapons, yes, but also came with their beasts. The nachtkrapp. The drudes. Alps and goblins and the rest.” Her voice grew quieter. “And the bärgeist. They unleashed it in the great hall and watched as it tore through our ranks like a sickle through wheat. I remember being in the throne room, and I wanted to chase after it, to try to stop the monster, but I … I didn’t. I couldn’t.” Her brow furrowed. “I think, perhaps, I was defending something in that room. Or someone. But I don’t remember…”
“The king and queen,” said Serilda, laying a hand on the woman’s arm and biting back the grimace at the sickly sensation. Agathe stiffened, looking down at the touch, briefly astonished. “I believe the king and queen died in the throne room during the massacre. You were probably trying to protect them.”
Agathe shook her head. “I don’t remember a king and queen—”
“Nobody does. It is a part of the curse on this castle, that the royal family be forgotten. There were a prince and princess, too.”
“A prince and princess?” Agathe fidgeted with the bloodied scarf at her neck. Then she inhaled sharply, a deep frown scrawling across her features. “So I failed them, too.”
Serilda’s insides tightened. “That isn’t what I—”
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” interrupted Agathe. “You asked about the wyvern. It was captured later. Perhaps … a hundred years ago? It is difficult to track the passing of time, but I was on that hunt. The king had an arrow he had been saving for that particular beast. I believe it was one of Perchta’s, perhaps the very last of her arrows. The huntress had a special poison that she dipped her arrows into on important hunts. It could subdue her prey. Rendered beasts immobile. That is how we captured the wyvern, even without the golden chains. I do not believe the king has any more of those arrows.” She cocked her head, peering at Serilda. “The wild hunt is most formidable. But even today, the hunters talk of Perchta as if she were still their leader. Not even the Alder King can replace her in their minds.”
“She sounds terrifying,” said Serilda.
Agathe laughed. “Yes. I agree.” Suddenly, her body went rigid and she pressed forward against the rail again. “Look.”
Serilda and the children leaned in as shadows stretched across the arena. The bärgeist was still hunched over protectively, its back like a mountain with jagged, bristled fur, the golden net looped around its front legs and up around its right shoulder. Three arrows jutting from its flesh.
Serilda did not know what Agathe had seen. It still seemed to her that the hunt had won. The bear was captured.
The hounds fell back and the hunters crept forward, weapons drawn.
A gust of wind whistled across the gardens, shaking the branches in the orchard. With it, the first sprinkles of rain.
“They are going to kill it!” said Gerdrut.
“No,” said Agathe. “They will try to get it to move. They are not strong enough to haul it back to the cage, so they will use pain to encourage it to walk. If that fails, they might have to hook the chains to the horses, but even that—”
One of the hunters leaped forward, preparing to jab a spear into the bear’s hindquarters.
But just before they did, the bear reared up on its back legs. The hunters holding the chains slipped through the dirt, dragged forward by the beast’s incredible strength. Some dropped the chains. The hunter with the spear leaped backward as the bärgeist turned on him and lunged, cutting through the hunter’s abdomen with one swipe of its claws. Smoke seeped out of the wound, spilling like dark fog around the hunter’s ankles. The man cried out in pain and collapsed. The bear launched its massive form over him and bolted back into the dense forest. With the golden net still on its shoulders, it managed to drag a couple of determined hunters along with it, until they were forced to relinquish the chains and let it go.
