Crap. He knew who I was. I spun, grabbing the handcuffs as I scrambled to get out of his reach. The look on his face was all I needed to see. I’d been set up. Lathe had sold me out and I knew it.
Roche lunged at me, and I screamed as I swung the handcuffs toward him, hoping to contact his face with the iron. There was a sound at the door. Thank the gods, Trillian!
But before Trillian could break through, Roche muttered something under his breath and the world shifted as he grabbed my hand. I frantically grabbed for anything I could to steady myself, but the chair, the table, the floor all vanished and we were standing in the middle of a misty field.
Looking around, I realized that we were out on the astral. I recognized it from the nights I ran with the Hunt under the full moon. How the hell had Roche managed that?
He was standing right next to me, but he’d dropped my hand as we shifted over—the landing had been rough—and I took the opportunity to swing the cuffs as hard as I could, keeping hold of one loop while using the other like the ball on a spiked flail. It hit him square on the cheek and the iron sizzled against his skin. Roche screamed and clutched his face.
Swinging again, I hit the other cheek, then raced off. Though I’d burned and bruised him, the wounds weren’t enough to stop him.
I made tracks, not caring which direction I headed in. I had to find some place to hide. The astral realm had its own flora and fauna, of a sort, and I spotted a stand of twisted trees up ahead. They weren’t real trees, of course, not like the ones we had back home, but they’d do.
Racing through the mists that swirled around my ankles, I thought I might be able to reach the stand before Roche caught up to me. I had one thing in my favor: when I ran with the Hunt, I was used to being out on the astral and I could run like the wind here. I sped up, leaving him in a wash of roiling mist.
As I slipped into the shadow of the trees, my mind was racing. How the hell was I supposed to get out of here? I couldn’t shift on my own unless the Hunt was summoning me or dropping me off. Come to think of it, where the hell had Roche learned to shift realms?
I softly darted among the ancient beings, watching their gnarled knots and burls form into faces. With a little luck they’d be friendly. With bad luck, they wouldn’t and I’d be facing a whole new set of problems.
There was no clearly marked path through the thicket—at least not that I could see through the mists—but the trees were parted to either side like they were flanking a trail so I headed down the center, searching for a fork leading off to the side. Maybe I’d get lucky and see a big sign flashing hiding place—you’ll be safe here.
Damn it, I hadn’t counted on Roche being able to jump realms. This was a definite kink in my plans. Maybe a deadly one.
A noise in the distance caught my attention. I tried to pinpoint the origin and decided it was probably Roche, nearing the woods. He was swearing, or at least that’s what I thought I heard.
Time to get out of sight. I glanced around at the thick undergrowth that surrounded the trees. The shrubs were just as menacing as the trees, but beggars can’t be choosers. It was either hide, or wait for Roche to knock me off. I plunged into the undergrowth, pushing through the waist-high bushes, trying to avoid leaving a trail.
The bushes grew taller as I continued off-path, and I finally found myself in front of a stand of brambles that had grown like a dome over a rock. A narrow crawl space allowed me to slip beneath the tendrils and slide behind the boulder. Once I was in my hidey-hole, I arranged the t horn-studded suckers to cover the access.
Of course, what I’d do after he left was another thing. Probably just wander around, hoping to find somebody who could send me home.
I waited, wondering what Trillian was doing. If he was like a hundred men I’d met, he’d take off, chalking it up to fate. A little part of me dared to hope that he’d come after me, but I knew better than to count on it. The Svartans weren’t exactly the most loyal group of races around, and even if he defied the odds, very few from Svartalfheim had easy access to the etheric realms.
The sound of footsteps caught my attention and I held my breath. The thorns poked at me. I tried to adjust my position, but realized that it wasn’t me bumping into them. Apparently the bush had decided to test out just what kind of creature I was, and one of the fronds was prodding me in the arm with its thorny tip. I grimaced and tried to gently wave it away. No such luck.
As it tapped me again, I glanced around, ready to pull out my dagger and chop the damned thing off, when I saw eyes gleaming at me from the base of the tree. The face stared at me impassively, then slowly blinked. The bramble that had been poking at me moved to point toward a low tunnel through the thorn bushes. That hadn’t been there before.
I glanced back at the tree and then sucked in a deep breath and dove for the tunnel. As I crawled through the mist, I heard a sound and darted a look over my shoulder. The brambles had closed again, cocooning me in a cave of thorns and leaves. I could barely see through the tangle of protection. As I settled myself, an odd little creature crossed through the place I’d just been crouching. A foul stench filled the air as it lifted its tail. A lycon—a friendly little mammal with a very strong defense. Mother had called them skunks.
Gagging, I forced myself to remain silent as the lycon rambled on through the undergrowth. Thank the gods I’d been out of the line of fire. Just then, a noise caught my attention as someone entered the area. Roche. Damn it—he’d probably followed my scent. I peered through a tiny gap in the brambles and could just make him out. He turned this way, then that, as if he were looking for something. I heard him curse.
Bingo! The tree and bush were helping me. They’d called in the lycon, whose spray had masked my scent. It would be impossible for Roche to find me now. And if I was guessing right, the brambles would put up one hell of a fight if he tried to tear through them.
Feeling like I actually might have a chance to come out of this alive, I huddled, waiting. The only thing I had with me were the iron handcuffs, and those I held gingerly, even with the gloves on. No use taking chances.
After a few moments, Roche turned and forced his way back through the undergrowth. I waited, barely breathing, until the branches around me relaxed. As they opened up, I crawled out, stood up, and cautiously adjusted my clothing.
Turning back to the tree, I let out a long sigh. “I don’t know if you can understand me,” I whispered, “but thank you. You saved my life.”
There was a soft murmur, as if the air currents were gliding through the knothole that formed the tree’s mouth. I got the distinct impression it said, “You’re welcome.”
After what seemed like an eternity, I pushed through the undergrowth back to the trail, pleased that Roche was nowhere in sight.
“Fuck,” I whispered. “Now what do I do? I have no idea how to get back home.”
The mist stretched out for as far as I could see. I could barely remember which way I’d come, or how far. I’d been running so fast that I’d lost track of the distance I’d covered.
After a moment’s debate, I straightened my shoulders and decided to continue on through the copse. As I picked up the pace, the trees were no longer silent. They whispered and shook in the astral currents. I closed my eyes and tuned in on what they were saying. I had the gift of talking to plants, even though I wasn’t all that skilled at growing them, and so I listened.
At first the murmurs surrounded topics I’d expect most trees—even astral ones—to discuss. Sun and growth and the mist, which apparently provided the water they needed to blossom and thrive. Scattered references to the lycons and other creatures of the astral realm dotted the conversation. But then, a sinister tone crept into the leaf-whispers, and I paused, dropping into a trance in order to pick up what they were saying.