We crossed the border into the Netherlands, and the elemental directed me to turn sharply to the southwest to avoid the bulk of cities by the sea. We’d have had to turn south at some point anyway to reach the French coast.
It’s odd, sometimes, how a border can seemingly change the character of the land. The German landscape had been sharp, clean, and precise, whereas the Dutch, even at night, had a bit of a gauzy filter over it, as if the ghost of Rembrandt had pulled his brush across it to soften the edges just a little bit. The colors I saw in my night vision, too, appeared subtly textured and mixed by the master, not so stark as they had been in Germany. Or perhaps it was no different at all, and only my melancholia made it so.
Noting the change of direction, Oberon said in a subdued tone, <Hey, Clever Girl?>
<Yes?>
He let some time pass, and all we heard was the pounding of my hooves and the pads of his paws on the earth. They beat out a rhythm of cycling thought, the percussive notes repeating Atticus over and over if you were inclined to hear it that way, and we were. Then he said, <Do you know how far we still have to go?>
<Not precisely. Why?>
<Do you think we’ll make it there before the huntresses catch up to us?>
The horns sounded again. Perhaps my imagination magnified the sound a bit.
<I’m not sure, Oberon. I hope we do.>
<I hope so too. But I’m wondering how realistic it is. I’ve been thinking that if I have to go out, I’d like to go out fighting instead of running. I want to face the Predator. I don’t want to “get to the choppah!” with Arnold. You remember those guys? Well, they weren’t real guys. What I mean is, did you ever see that movie?>
<You mean Predator? Yeah, I’ve seen it.>
<Really? It’s no wonder Atticus thought you were perfect.>
<He thought…?> I felt as if my eyes should be flooding with tears, but horses don’t cry the same way humans do. Oberon continued, not waiting for me to finish.
<There was that one character who decided to take off his guns and meet the Predator with just a knife. I forget what his name was, but I’ll never forget what he did. Everybody was crapping their pants and scrambling for the choppah, but he was like, hell with that, homies, I’m not running from my problems. I’m going to face them, even if they kill me, but first I’m going to slowly cut open my own chest and make some crazy eyes. And then the Predator did kill him—and pretty fast too—but I always respected his decision to take that stand. He was like, fuck the choppah, Arnold! Oh. Will you excuse my language?>
<You’re excused.>
<Thank you. So that was his attitude, except he never said a word. You just knew what he was thinking. And now I’m kind of thinking the same thing. When the goddesses first appeared and shot those arrows at us, I was so startled that I peed, and I feel ashamed of that now.>
<You don’t have to be, Oberon.>
<I think I do. I think I have had a longer and better life than any hound has ever had, and I shouldn’t fear death. Am I right, Granuaile? I’m not very good at time, but I’m pretty old for a wolfhound, aren’t I?>
<The oldest ever,> I told him. <You’re legendary.>
<Well, I don’t feel legendary. But I do feel old. So old that I probably shouldn’t be here. I have had more than my fair share of sausage and bacon and steak. And I don’t feel like running anymore. I feel like stopping here and putting up the fight that Atticus never got a chance to put up himself.>
Oberon abruptly quit running, and I had to stop too. We were in the middle of a large barley field.
<You go on, Clever Girl. Get to the choppah.> He turned to face the northeast and growled. <We’ll see who pees first this time.>
My instinct for self-preservation spoke up. It told me I could survive this. I could drop Scáthmhaide, abandon Oberon, and turn into a peregrine falcon. I could fly straight across the channel to England, find a tethered tree, and shift away to safety. They couldn’t have pandemonium going on over there too, I thought. Somewhere in the New World, maybe even back in Arizona, I’d bind my amulet to my aura the way Atticus did, and then the playing field would be a bit more even.
Except I’d never be able to live with the guilt. And I’d never have the stomach to fight again if I didn’t fight now.
<Oberon, this isn’t the place to take a stand.>
<You can’t talk me out of this. I’m doing it.>
<I’m not trying to talk you out of it. I’m with you one hundred percent. Fuck the choppah, okay?>
<Well, okay then. What’s the problem?>
<This isn’t the right place to do it. You have to choose your battleground more wisely. The huntresses have hounds now, remember?>
<So?>
<So you’re standing in open ground, where they can surround you.>
<Oh.>
<We need to get to a place where we can put our backs to a wall and not get flanked. Make them face you. Remember how the guy in the movie chose his spot carefully?>
<Yeah! It was this river valley or something with a log across it. He stopped there.>
<Exactly. And do you see why he did it?>
<The Predator had to come straight at him. Couldn’t get across without going through him first.>
<That’s right. And that’s what we need to do. We need to find a spot like that where we can do the most damage possible.>
<Whoa, horsie. We?>
<Silly dog. Didn’t you hear me? I’m not going anywhere without you.>
<Awesome!> I had thought Oberon’s tail might wag at that, but it didn’t. He simply pricked up his ears. <Do you know a good place around here?>
<No, but I’m sure the elemental does. Let’s keep going while I figure it out.>
The ears drooped. <Hey, wait a minute, Clever Girl. You’re not trying to trick me into running away, are you?>
I raised my right front hoof. <Pretend I’m raising my right hand. I swear by all that’s holy—>
<You mean sausage and bitches?>
<I swear by sausage and bitches that I am not trying to trick you. We will find a good place to fight and then that’s what we’ll do.>
<Okay! Let’s do this!>
We ran, and I consulted the elemental about a suitable place to defend ourselves. Images of the path ahead flashed through my mind until I saw a likely spot.
//There / That place / Query: Where is that?// It was a small precipice—only fifteen or so feet high—but if we could get our backs to it, we would have a relatively unobscured line of sight and no one would be able to sneak up on us. There were trees on top of it, but at the base a small clear space before the trees broke up the view—and the approach was on a gentle slope as well, so we’d have the high ground.
//Remain on current path// the elemental said. //Will guide//
//Query: Distance to destination?//
Elementals are not excellent at using human units of measurement, but I figured it was about eighty miles to the southwest, skirting cities and keeping to rural areas as much as possible. If we sped up, we could make it in a couple of hours.
<Two hours’ run,> I told Oberon. <That’s not bad. We can stay ahead for a couple of hours.>
<Sure, no problem! Atticus drilled me on this. An hour is the one with sixty seconds in it, right?>